


Someday This Will Be a Memory

by grandfatherclock



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Community: widojest love, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-01-23 00:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18538270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandfatherclock/pseuds/grandfatherclock
Summary: Caleb Widogast realizes something about Jester Lavorre that changes practically everything. Or at least seems to.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to elsinorerose on AO3 for beta'ing! This is set ambiguously in the future, in which they leave Xhorhas and make their way to Port Damali through Nicrodranas.

“We’re fucking incredible,” Beau proclaimed as Jester finished talking, puffing out her chest in pride. There was soot all over her face, smeared against her brown skin, some it staining the blue of her monk vestments. Her hair was falling out from where it was usually tied back, and her eyes were _gleaming_.

Jester nodded beside her, sitting on the side of the bed in the room they were all currently conspiring in. Her hair was a similar mess, and the look in her eyes just as wild. They’d rented out four rooms in _The Drunken Sailor_ , the tacky tavern Fjord had insisted had the best service in his side of Port Damali (“The shitty side,” Nott had snickered), and had all, besides Yeza (“He _needs_ to _sleep!_ ”), coalesced inside Beau and Jester’s room.

Everything had gone perfectly, if Jester and Beauregard’s tale was to be believed. Fucking fantastically. Jester and Beauregard had recovered the artifact that they’d been paid handsomely to retrieve, and it had gone _so_ _well_ that Caleb was beginning to suspect Jester was hiding something in her overly enthusiastic rendition of events.

He wasn’t the only one. Caduceus said, pointedly, “The assistant seemed… ah, _distracted_ , when he left his chambers.” He tilted his head, and his vibrant pink hair spilled onto his shoulder. “A key part of the plan, if I recall, was not having witnesses?” He wrinkled his nose. “I _think_. I’m not sure.”

“Yes, and the way you put it was very charitable, Caduceus,” Caleb said, examining his nails. There were two trains of thought currently running through his head. The first was that his nails were starting to grow long again, and that he needed to cut them. Besides what a certain blue tiefling may believe, he didn’t enjoy the feeling of grime under his nails, and he certainly didn’t enjoy the idea of increasing the risk of an infection. He could hear an icy, judgemental inflection in his head, hissing about how he _couldn’t be of any use if we had to cut off your fingers, Ermendrud._

His second train of thought concerned how best to dispatch of the assistant in a way that wouldn’t arouse suspicion or further inquiry. One of them could always disguise themselves as the man, and get him fired…

Jester frowned, and Caleb found himself watching a little blush crawling up the side of her neck. It was kind of adorable. “ _Well_ , you _know…_ I was _getting_ to that. Momma always said to give _good_ news _first_.” She leaned close. “There _may_ have been a tussle.”

Fjord, who was laying on the bed beside Jester, groaned. He leaned up slightly, running a hand through his hair to fix the disheveled mess. “ _Jester—_ ”

“I can fix it!” Jester said, putting her hands up. Caleb noted idly that she’d changed the shade of her nail polish, made it a lighter pink. It complimented her skin tone beautifully. Her eyes glittered with excitement. “I can do something _really cool_ , you guys. The Traveller taught me this _awesome_ trick.”

Caleb, despite himself, matched her smile. “And what trick would that be, Lavorre?” He couldn’t help but be enraptured by the playful chaos of her magic. It made him want to do something drastic.

Jester beamed. “If we find him in like, a _day_ , I can change his _memories_.”

Beau dropped the cup of tea Caduceus had gently bullied her into holding.

Caleb’s eyes snapped up much too quickly, and he heard Nott’s sharp intake of breath. Beau beside Jester had widened her eyes, her hand unsure on Jester’s shoulder. She met his gaze and he kept his face stiff, carefully neutral.

" _F_ _uck_ ,” she said, leaning down to pick up the broken pieces. “Sorry, Caduceus.”

Cad sighed, though there was a deliberateness in how he watched Beau pick up the broken cup that made it evidently clear he could feel the sudden _off_ ness in the room. “Perhaps Jester can mend it? It was a really good cup.”

Jester smiled. “I _can_ do that, Caduceus!” As she held her holy symbol and the broken pieces of the cup, muttering a quick incantation, Beau looked back at Caleb and mouthed what was running through his head. _W_ _hat the fuck?_

Caleb didn’t respond, looking to the side of Jester’s face as the pieces of the cup seemed to glow, before they suddenly fit back together. Caleb looked at the scars on his arms and wondered if it could really be so easy to fix _anything._ Astrid, when she’d come to pick him up at his house, her face sporting a bruise, had smiled and muttered, _Everything has broken pieces, Bren. Just haven’t had time to hide mine._ She’d given him her make-up, then, because her hands had been shaking too much to apply it herself.

Nott broke the ensuing stiff, awkward silence. “Wow,” she said, her voice lilting and uncertain. She kept looking worriedly between him and Jester, her keen yellow eyes full of concern, and he remembered how terribly _obvious_ Astrid had been on one of their stake-outs, how he’d snapped at her to _fucking get it together._ “When did you… learn?”

Jester seemed to notice the flatness in Nott’s voice, and her enthusiasm visibly deflated. Caleb felt the familiar urge to comfort her, ask her wide-eyed how her spell worked, as if he didn’t _fucking_ know, versus another urge he hadn’t felt in a while. An urge to put on a false face and get closer, ask her pleasantly what she intended and have _Suggestion_ at his fingertips. _Is there anything you’d like to change about me, Lavorre? I suggest you tell the truth._ “ _Well_ , you _know_ ,” she said, fingers playing with the edge of her dress. “The Traveller showed me _pretty recently_.”

There was another pause, and then Fjord broke it. “Wow.” He sat up from sprawling on the bed, seeming unaware of the stiffness of Caleb, Beau and Nott. Caduceus’ eyes danced around, him sitting cross-legged on the floor and holding his cup of tea. He hadn’t moved or taken a sip since Jester brought up her new _gift_. “That sure would be helpful. More reliable than intimidating him, and, uh”—his gaze temporarily slid to Caleb—“easier to clean up than just getting rid of him outright.”

Beau was still looking at him. “I, uh.” She exhaled. “It _would_ be helpful. Don’t want to kill him. He was just doing his job.” Her blue eyes watched him carefully, tracking his every moment with her sharp gaze. “What do you think, Caleb?”

He could feel the slight tug on his coat, and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. _I’m with you_ , Nott said, without even really saying anything, by just the slightest pull of his tattered clothes by her clawed hand. “I’ll follow the group,” he said, his voice flatter than he’d hoped. He leaned back in his chair, wondering how much more diminutive it made him seem. He knew it probably would not be enough for Beau to let him off the hook.

Beau narrowed her eyes, and Caleb let himself… not necessarily pleasantly acknowledge how much more he understood her. “That’s not an answer, Widogast.” If he didn’t know her better, he would’ve pegged the hardness in her voice as judgement, annoyance at his evasion. But he could see her hand tightening on Jester’s shoulder, and he could see the slight wavering in her intonation. Beau cared about this group, and Beau didn’t want to see this group fall apart. Beau cared about _him_ , and Beau didn’t want to see _him_ fall apart. There was a silent promise in her stance, in her clenched jaw, and Caleb knew they would talk later.

He played with the wire in his hand nervously, while the rest of him remained coolly still. He could feel Caduceus’ eyes on him, on his slightly trembling fingers. “I personally don’t think getting rid of a man of such a low stature would be all that difficult,” he said, and from the slight twitch of Nott’s ear, and Fjord’s raised head, he knew that statement would be pulled apart if he let it, so he continued on. “But his boss is very powerful and I can see where complications may… arise.” He looked back to Jester. “I also see complications arising if Jester were to make him remember something that contradicts the norms of how things run in the higher echelons of Port Damali.” He shrugged, as if this was just another cool calculation of his, like all the voices in his head weren’t screaming at him to _run_. “But again. I follow the group.”

Yasha said, quietly, “I don’t mind hurting him, if we have to.” She examined the dirt on the side of her boot. “But, I mean. If we have to.”

“I could take him out with _one crossbow bolt_ ,” Nott said, her voice bright and enthusiastic. Her fists were clenched. “We could make this like a bet, or something.” She didn’t look at Caleb anymore, having caught on to how he wanted to play this. “Make it _fun_.”

Fjord coughed. “Yeah, uh. I appreciate your enthusiasm, Nott. But _killing_ _him_ ain’t the issue. Removing any trace of him and making it so no one is suspicious would be the issue.” His searching eyes flicked temporarily to Caleb, and then he said, “At least for some of us.”

Caleb couldn’t even find it within himself to smirk at Fjord’s incredibly obvious olive branch. _Tell us what’s up, you stubborn asshole_. As if Fjord could judge him for withholding secrets. Caleb continued to stare at the wire in his hands.

Caduceus said, interrupting the fraught silence, “How about we vote?” His eyes flickered from Caleb to Jester, who was sitting in silence, wringing her hands. Jester met Caduceus’ gaze, and whatever he gleaned from it, he nodded in seeming satisfaction. “All in favor of changing his memories?” He raised his own hand. “I’d rather not kill this man, and if all goes well, he won’t remember a very unpleasant night.”

Jester also raised her hand, but she stayed silent, with none of her usual energy. She clutched the Traveller symbol like a lifeline with one hand, and tugged on a loose thread in her new dress with the other.

Caleb hated himself for many reasons, but a big one was for ever being the reason Jester Lavorre wasn’t smiling. _You blot out the sun wherever you go, Caleb._ He remembered the annoyance in Beau’s face, how all his paranoia had been interfering with her desire to check out Yussah’s tower, how her comment stung him in ways she didn’t intend, and he felt like cold fingers were clenched around his heart, and rapidly tightening their grip. It felt a little hard to breathe.

Fjord raised his hand, and so did Yasha.

Nott sniffed and said, “I’d rather fucking kill him. I _just_ bought these new bolts.” She raised her crossbow, and imitated the sound of a crossbow firing with her mouth.

Beau tilted her head, her eyes _still_ on him, and he realized she was waiting for him to vote. “What about you, Widogast?”

This was the second chance she was offering, a second chance to open up, and he kind of hated her for it. Caleb got up from his chair, putting the wire into one of the pockets of his coat, and shrugged. “That’s a majority,” he said, ignoring Beau’s question. “This won’t require the entire group, and I’ve got new spells I need to transcribe.” He tried to smile at Jester. “I’ll, ah. Watch Nugget for you.”

Jester stared up at him, her legs still from previously swinging from her perch on the bed. “He’d like that,” she said quietly.

Caleb nodded. “Then if everything is decided, I’m retiring to Fjord’s and my room.” He got up, and Beau stepped forward. For a second, he thought she might stop him, but then her shoulders sank, and she nodded, and watched him leave.

“Night,” she said abruptly, like she didn’t give a fuck.

Caleb gave her what he hoped was a reassuring half-smile, as he left the room. He could feel everyone’s eyes on his back, and it wasn’t until he was in his room and he slammed his door shut, that he sank down against the doorframe, hands in his hair.

_Well, you piece of shit, you might as well get to work._

Caleb took out the new paper and ink he’d bought from Nicodranas, and immersed himself in spell equations and arcane symbols. It was a pleasant, and more importantly productive, way to ignore how badly his shoulders were shaking.

 

There’s a knocking on the door, perhaps an hour later, and Caleb, still sitting against the door, said, absentmindedly, “You can come in, Fjord. Just don’t step on my shit.” He moved slightly, so the door wouldn’t hit him when it opened.

There was a pause, and then the door creaked open. Caleb waited for Fjord to move past him, and then wrinkled his nose in annoyance when he didn’t. He turned, and his retort died in his throat as he stared at Caduceus above him.

A pleasant smile danced on Caduceus’ lips, two cups of tea in his hand. He was leaning down, so he could fit through the frame. “Hello, Mister Caleb.” His hair was pulled into a braid, and from the flowers in his hair, he could tell it was Nott’s handiwork.

Caleb couldn’t help but smile, half-hearted though it might be, at seeing Nott be so much more at ease with the rest of the Mighty Nein. “Caduceus.” He looked at his fingers, blackened at their tips from burns and otherwise smudged with ink. He knew what was coming next, and he didn’t look forward to it.

Caduceus hummed under his breath. “May we talk?”

Caleb forced himself to nod, and internally winced at how jerky the movement was. “Ja, I, uh. I suppose we must.” He gestured to an empty spot beside him, where there was no ink or paper or symbols chalked onto the ground. “If you wouldn’t mind sitting on the floor.”

Caduceus smiled, as if pleasantly pleased Caleb didn’t send him away. He sat beside him carefully, mindful of the mess around them, and offered him one of the cups.

Caleb couldn’t help but feel like by inviting Caduceus in, he’d passed some kind of test, which made him clench his jaw. He took the cup Caduceus was offering, and holding it in his hands, he felt the ridiculous urge to cast _Identify_.

“Oh,” Caduceus said, and Caleb looked at him. There was so much fucking _warmth_ in his eyes. “Mister Caleb—”

“I didn’t mean—” Caleb began, raising his unoccupied hand defensively. He _hated_ the vulnerability in his voice. _Fuck_. He sounded like a fucking kid.

Caduceus put a steady hand on his shoulder, and the deep sincerity in his eyes stopped Caleb in his tracks. “I’m disappointed that you feel unsafe,” Caduceus said, “but I’m not disappointed _in you_.”

Caleb kind of laughed, and winced at how harsh the sound was. “Then who are you disappointed in, Mister Clay?”

He shrugged, and took a sip from his own cup. “I don’t know. I suppose I’m just disappointed in general.” He looked at Caleb, and at all the notes and scrawling around them. “I don’t know if… distracting yourself from how you’re feeling will stop how you’re feeling.”

“I actually did need to transcribe,” Caleb muttered, crossing his arms.

“I know,” Caduceus said, in that way that made Caleb realize that Caduceus would’ve been able to tell if his reason for leaving earlier had been _total_ bullshit. “It’s very impressive, the work you do.” He looked to the cup, which Caleb hadn’t yet taken a sip from. “Do what you need to, Mister Caleb. I don’t…” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “I don’t want you to feel too unsafe to, ah. Assert your boundaries.”

“You’re my friend,” Caleb said, and his hands were trembling again. _Fuck._ He didn’t know who he was trying to convince. How could it all start to slip away so quickly? He’d thought, he’d been _sure—_

“I am,” Caduceus said. He took another sip. “Sometimes friendship is tested.” He paused, and then said, “My sister once killed my pet centipede, when I was a kid, you know.” Caleb could see the momentary darkness in Caduceus’ expression, and he couldn’t help but smile a little at how comically _off_ it seemed on the agreeable firbolg. “Didn’t even know how much it hurt me. I didn’t talk to her for a month.” He smiled, and his expression was sunny again. “Seems trivial now. But I know… it would’ve been worse if she didn’t let me be angry.”

Caleb looked at the cup, and felt the heat on his face. It smelled sweet, with the faintest whiff of ginger… “I’m, uh. I’m not _—angry_.” He clenched his hand around the cup, remembering what Beau said what seemed like eons ago when they’d found the fucking Glove of Blasting on his hand about how he couldn’t let his trauma hurt the group. She’d always known how to punch exactly where it hurt. They’d been so indelicate with each other, in those days.

“I think you might be a little angry,” Caduceus said, serenely. There wasn’t any judgement in his voice.

Caleb stared at him, and then stared at the cup, and then he drank, and drank, and drank through the burn in his throat, and drank through Caduceus’ hesitant, “ _Caleb—_ ”, and he jutted out the cup to him with his hand, and ignored how every part of him was shaking. “I’m _fine_ ,” he hissed. “I’ll get over it.”

“Caleb,” Caduceus repeated, taking the cup from his hand after a moment’s hesitation. “You don’t have to, but it might help. If you would tell me… what’s angering you. Or scaring you. Either. This isn’t…” He paused. “I’m not _testing_ you.”

Caleb gave him a doubting smirk, and he felt like such an asshole, and he felt like doing something, saying something, so Caduceus knew _exactly_ who was on his team, _exactly_ whose favor he’d gotten. “Maybe I’m a little _peeved_ , Caduceus.” He hated how bitter he sounded. “She’s wonderful. But she’s so _predictable_.” They both knew who he was talking about. Caduceus stiffened at Caleb’s mocking tone, at the sudden flatness in Caleb’s expression. “She fucks up other people’s store displays, and she fucks up other people’s temples. What kind of god _encourages_ their disciples to fuck up other _temples_? And now, he’s deigned to award her with the ability to fuck up other people’s heads.”

Caduceus sat still through his rushed and cruel condemnation, and then he said, evenly, “That isn’t very fair.” He took another sip from his fucking cup.

Caleb shrugged, and Caduceus’ neutrality only hastened his own manic outbursts. “It’s, uh.” It felt a little hard to breathe. “It’s all a little fucked, isn’t it? He found her when she was a child. And now she’s so _sure_.” He looked at the papers in a mess all around him, and suddenly all those equations and symbols felt like gibberish to him. Another tongue. He felt like how he did when he first stumbled out of the asylum and tried to do a cantrip, the fear seizing in his lungs when he couldn’t fucking create _Dancing Lights_. He felt like he was unravelling. “She just _—_ she just jumps from place to place, stirring shit. And now she’s _—she’s in my head, Caduceus._ ” There was palpable fear in his voice, and _fuck_. He hadn’t meant to say that last statement out loud. He wondered if Caduceus could tell everything he’d meant, every fucking way Jester was in his head.

From the glittering in Caduceus’ eyes, and the empathy in his gaze, he could tell that he did. “Mister Caleb _—_ ” he began. The warmth in his deep and layered voice nearly unbearable.

“Caduceus,” he cut in, and he sounded so… tired. “I can’t _—_ I  _need—_ ” He broke off, and looked at Caduceus, begging him to understand and not force Caleb to spell it out. His hand twiched, almost snapping Frumpkin into existence, but _—no._ After his outbursts, he didn’t deserve to have even that.

Thankfully, Caduceus caught on, and after a moment, hesitantly nodded. His dark eyes looked, perhaps for the first time tonight, unsure. “I’ll leave you to this,” he said. “But I think… you may… need to talk to her.”

Caleb looked at his hands, at his arms. He realized, belatedly, as he looked at the cups Caduceus was holding, that he had given Caleb the cup that Beau had broken, and his heart clenched. That fucker was entirely too clever for his own good. “Good night,” he said, his voice harsh.

Caduceus looked a little sad, and a little disappointed ( _I_ _n me, this time_ , Caleb thought), and as he got up and opened the door, he heard a soft, “ _Ah._ ”

Caleb turned to see Jester standing there. She was crying, and her sharp, bright violet eyes flickered from Caduceus to Caleb, and back. She’d cleaned up, brushed her hair. Caleb wondered, with a kind of desperation, if she’d cleaned up to talk to _him._ Nugget was beside her, panting and unaware of the tension in the room.

“Jester _—_ ” Caleb said, and was silenced by the shaking of her head. It reminded him of the ocean, and of Dashilla, and of Fjord’s probing questions.

“ _Don’t_ ,” she said. It was so harsh that he might as well have been one of her combatants on the battlefield, who she screamed at in Infernal. She wiped the tears with the back of her gloved hand, and then she looked back at him, and for a second he thought maybe she would say something else, might demand he explain himself, but all she said was, “I thought you _understood_.” She turned, and marched away, and Caleb winced at every sound of her feet furiously meeting the ground.

Caduceus sighed, and then continued on to exit the door, leaning down to fit through the frame. As he closed the door, he said, softly, “It isn’t worth it if it’s easy.”

Caleb winced as the door gently shut. The room suddenly felt like a cage, like a prison, and he, hands trembling, started ritual casting _Leomund’s Tiny Hut_ into existence. He kept his head blank, thinking only about arcane symbols and his books and his magic and how fucking unsafe he felt right now. Like everything was broken, and everything was tearing apart. He’d always been like this, and he’d finally allowed them to see. Caleb remembered how unflappable Astrid had been the first couple of weeks, how she’d shown him how to hide the scars. _If you let him know how hurt you are, he’ll test you more._ Her eyes had flashed. _Don’t let yourself be a target, Bren_.

“Sorry,” Caleb muttered, as he got up and started casting _Alarm._ “Never was as good as you.” The silver thread glittered in his ruined hands, and he remembered the excitement in Jester’s eyes when he’d first cast it. Her smile has been the brightest thing he’d ever seen. _Fuck_ , he thought wildly, trying not to think of her, and Astrid, and scars, and memories. He was failing miserably.

Finally, he materialized Frumpkin, outside the barrier. “Keep watch,” he muttered, and ignored the way the familiar looked at him with a prodding gaze. It was just his luck that Frumpkin in his current form looked _exactly_ like his parents’ cat, who he would chase endlessly in his childhood. He shut the door on him and laid down on the bed. He waited, waited for Fjord, and found himself drifting. He didn’t fight it. He might’ve, yesterday. He didn't give a fuck anymore. Wherever his head would take him, right now it was better than here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to poyo/TheOneTrueCatbug for beta'ing!

Astrid smiled at him, lovely as always. They were sitting on the ground, in some open pocket she had found in the forest behind her house. Well. Found hadn't necessarily been accurate. That implied a degree of methodology, a degree of  _intent_. She’d stumbled onto it.

She laughed, and from the tilt of her head, Caleb could see an imperfectly covered bruise.  _I had no idea where I was going, Bren. Just needed to run. I tripped on a large tree root, and fell face first onto the ground. Luckily the grass is soft here_.

Caleb, to distract her, or more likely, to distract himself, put his hand on hers.  _Are you ready to go back to Rexxentrum, Schatz?_ He stared studiously at her arms, at the small scars where he knew the crystals were embedded.

She smirked. Her green eyes glittered, and they were the prettiest things he’d ever seen.  _So fucking ready._

 

He woke up, and there were tears in his eyes.  _Fuck_ , why were there  _tears_ in his eyes? He raised his hands to wipe them, but as he looked at his ink-stained, burned fingers, he felt a choked sob escape his throat and he put his hands over his mouth, trying to muffle the sound.  _Shut up_ , he thought with disinterest.  _Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up._

He heard scratching on his door, and he closed his eyes, thinking of Frumpkin with his dead cat’s face, and his dead cat’s name, scratching at the door urgently while hissing at anyone else who approached, even as  _unadulterated fury_ radiated off the familiar towards him. He smiled, a little. The loyalty built into Frumpkin’s conception kind of broke his heart.

Caleb sat up on his bed, and noticing its comparative emptiness from other nights, realized Fjord hadn’t made his way back into this room. Strange. Jester had come to give him Nugget ( _Oh god, Jester_ ), so they’d planned to find him, the assistant, last night… but Jester had been crying.

Oh, Jester. His heart was seized with… something. He wasn’t quite sure. Fear, at what she must now think of him. Jester, with her light pink nails. She’d changed them so recently, with the new ribbons on her horns. Whatever he felt now, in this heavy morning, made more oppressive with the thick curtains blocking any sunlight that would've come from the windows, it wasn’t necessarily… wholly regret. He’d broken the rule Astrid had set for them, to hide his bullshit. But he’d always been shit at it. Perhaps this way it could keep his bullshit from hurting her, like it did last night. He thought fondly of Jester's bright smile, how she’d giggled when her mother gifted her a new lipstick. She’d been so vibrant, when she’d cleaned up and put on a new dress the second they made it to Port Damali, and when she’d asked him how she looked… He’d for the thousandth time rediscovered the freckles on the bridge of her nose and her shoulders and her legs and her thighs, from that time they were on the beach and she was sitting  _so close_ —

Well. He kind of scoffed to himself. He looked at all the shit on the floor, barely visible from the lack of light, that he’d been too tired to clean up last night.  _Fucking useless, if you can’t manage to clean your shit_ , he’d snarled at Eodwulf, when Wulf had left components out which had almost set their dorm on fire. Bastard had  _laughed_. Caleb wouldn’t have to worry about Jester being close anymore, would he? Jester would never sit close to him again. It was among all the other things that would no longer matter, like Astrid’s piece-of-shit father and the way Eodwulf got too close in front of prying eyes.

He ignored the scritching on the door and knelt to the ground, and began to clean.

 

Beau was glaring at him, when he came downstairs. She was the first person he saw, because she was sitting by the table closest to the stairs to the upper level, a choice far too deliberate and the person far too intelligent for it to be happenstance. There were bags under her eyes, like she hadn’t had nearly enough sleep. In contrast to yesterday’s disheveled mess, her hair was pulled in neatly, almost aggressively, to a tight bun. The light from the sunlight streaming out of the open windows suited her tan skin well. Caleb thought ruefully of how many burns he would get as they stocked up in Port Damali. When their gazes met, she jutted her chin to the chair beside her.

He reluctantly walked to her table, seeing from the corner of his eye Fjord and Jester near the wall to the other side of the room. They seemed to be playing a game of cards. Jester had changed the style of her hair today, instead going with two braids that framed her face very nicely. Her horns still sported those ribbons, but they were in a new order, clashing brilliantly against the blue of her skin. Jester’s eyes slid to him momentarily, as if sensing his gaze, and her face was uncharacteristically, frighteningly flat. He looked away, seating himself next to Beau.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Beauregard snapped, breaking the stiff silence with no preamble. Her fingers drummed the side of the table, and she clenched and unclenched her jaw repeatedly. “You made Jester  _cry_ _?_ ” She kind of splayed her hands out, in a way that both seemed to reinforce her earlier question, and also threaten to strangle him.

He stared at the grooves on the table with deep interest. His fingers, twitching from having nothing in their grasp, found purchase in scratching his arms. Beau kind of winced, as she saw him do this. “Did you find the assistant?” he asked, his voice rough, hoping to distract her from both her earlier questions and also her gaze.

It didn’t work. Beau watched his hands with her keen eyes, head tilted to the side. “Yeah,” she said, after a moment. “After I helped Jester  _dry her tears_ , it went fucking perfectly.” She widened her eyes out momentarily at him, the implication of what she wanted him to say next to her obvious.

That also didn’t work. “Just like the initial heist went perfectly,” he muttered, already bracing himself for her reaction to his little jibe.

She threw her hands up in the air. “ _Dude_ —”

He raised his own hand in the air defensively. “I’m not  _trying_ to be harsh, or unfair, Beauregard. But you talk all the time about… leaving every place better than you found it, and not… using our power as a shortcut. Was that not a shortcut?” For a second, he imagined Master Ikithon and he thought to himself,  _You were so fucking good, you probably could’ve convinced me without it._ He looked away from her, not wanting her to see the sudden shame stricken on his face, and searched with his gaze to see if anyone else was perturbed by the sudden rise and fall of their conversation. Luckily the tavern was mostly empty, but though Fjord seemed utterly engrossed in the game, he could see Jester’s jaw clench.

Beau was silent for a second, before she said, “Look at me.” She waited for him to reluctantly turn back to her. “We fucked up. I can admit it. We should’ve made sure that dude was  _actually_  not in his office that night. We shouldn’t’ve assumed. But  _you…_ you’re being unfair, and you know it.” She rubbed the back of her neck, as if bracing herself for what she had to say next. “I know… from what happened to you…”

“ _Drop it_ ,” he snapped, except it wasn’t… it wasn’t harsh, like he hoped. It was fucking… it was fucking pleading.

Beau put her hand on his arm, which he realized his fingers were digging into. She scowled, and he thought she would continue her train of thought, talk over him, and he didn’t know what he’d do if she mentioned him, if he had to sit through the hatred that she emphasized with every syllable she enunciated of his name. Beau’s eyes softened, as if she could see the silent, repressed madness in his stance, in his clenched jaw, in fucking everything. “Where’s Frumpkin?” she asked quietly.

Caleb let go of his arm, and pulled out the wire he used to cast  _Message_ and started twisting it in his hands, again and again, into increasingly fucked up shapes. “Having fun in the Feywild.”

“Call him,” she said, leaning against her elbow placed on the table. Her eyes danced around the tavern, in the direction of Jester and Fjord, and Caleb forced himself not to follow her gaze.

“It’s more fun for him there,” he muttered. “He had to wait outside last night, so I wanted to make it… nice for him.” He could see Beau’s eyes narrow, as she realized, like he'd unconsciously known she would,  _why_ Caleb had forced Frumpkin to have such a shitty night. He continued, before she could pull on that thread, “I ask him to do all sorts of unpleasant shit,”  _like lay on my chest as I try not to think about syringes_ , “and he deserves… to have it nice.”

Beau let go of him, and let her arm lower limply onto her lap. Despite the false ease she presented, he could see both the hand propping up her head and the hand on her lap were clenched to the point of her knuckles whitening. “I won’t say it again, Widogast. Call your fucking cat.”

He narrowed his own eyes at her.

She met his gaze coolly, her lips curling at the ends at the thought of a challenge. As a gust of wind made its way into the tavern, and one of the few loose strands of Beauregard’s hair slapped against her face, Caleb realized as she moved to pull it behind her ear that her nails were also painted that beautiful light pink.  _Jester’s_ light pink. It caused him to falter, and avert his eyes, which made Beau smirk triumphantly.

He groaned, and not wanting to explain just how unfair she’d been in reminding him of Jester’s  _nails_ , he snapped his fingers, materializing Frumpkin into her arms. The familiar stared at him, and even if Caleb didn’t share a telepathic bond with him, he could still  _feel_ the discontentment and anger radiating off his current form. There were other things he was also picking up, that he picked up from Caduceus last night, that he was picking up from Beauregard now, and he wished he could explain to them all that he  _really_ wasn’t worth all of this. Any of this.

“I meant—I mean—” Beau pinched the bridge of her nose, and sighed. “Thanks, Caleb.”

He nodded. He could feel hunger clawing at his stomach from not eating dinner last night, and began looking for the barmaid who he remembered had introduced herself yesterday when they’d checked in.  _Adele_. She was sitting behind the counter, and when he caught her gaze, she immediately stood up, and, flushing, ran her hands through her curly blonde hair before moving to make her way over. He watched her movement with vague interest, something stirring in him from what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Beau coughed, getting back his attention. “So we sidestepped what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“ _You_ dropped it,” he muttered.

“Because you asked me to.” She leaned back in her chair, crossing her toned arms in front of her. “I don’t”—her face looked uncharacteristically vulnerable—“I’m not gonna stop pushing you, since I think you need pushing. But I don’t—I won’t—” She bit her lip. “If you don’t want to talk about  _him_ , we don’t have to.”

Caleb looked at her, and she met his searching eyes, and he could tell that she meant it. “Thank you,” he said, quietly. He couldn’t tell her how grateful he was that she didn’t call him by his actual name. Not today. Not after last night.

Beau leaned closer. “But you need to apologize to Jester.”

Caleb sighed, and nodded, backing away, backing into his chair. “Can’t let my bullshit affect the team,” he said, looking at his blackened fingertips. “I haven’t forgotten what you told me, Beauregard.” He lifted his gaze, and his eyes followed Adele making her way over to their table. “I’ll apologize.”

Beau opened her mouth, most assuredly to interrogate his distracted gaze, or, equally troubling, talk about their terse back-and-forth from before he told her what he was all about, but then Adele interrupted her train of thought by slamming her hands to the table far too enthusiastically. Beau kind of winced at the sudden sound, while Caleb, expectant of her arrival, simply raised an eyebrow.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her cheeks a little pink.

Caleb still wasn’t used to people finding him attractive. He’d covered his face in shit and mud for so long, caked his hair in it… though admittedly it hadn’t necessarily worked all the time. Now that his cover was effectively blown in every way that mattered, he’d begun to shave with some regularity, and had even gotten a haircut. He wasn’t wearing his multiple layers of coats and cloaks anymore, too tired from yesterday’s events and having no real reason to, due to Port Damali’s notorious heat. He simply wore his usual pants and boots, and his white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, along with his book holsters. He supposed he was slightly more photogenic than he usually was. “Just some toast, and eggs, if you would.” He smiled at her. “Thank you for everything, Adele.”

Adele smiled back at him. “Of course, dear.” She played with the edge of her apron. “Caleb, right?” She bit her bottom lip far too obviously.

“Caleb Widogast, ja.” He leaned his head against his hand, his arm resting on the table. From the corner of his eye, he could see Jester had frozen completely, besides her tail, which flicked back and forth almost violently. Caleb also didn’t miss how Adele’s eyes tracked the skin of his neck that became exposed as he moved. “How much would I owe you?” he continued, wondering not the first time what the  _fuck_ he was doing,  _where_ he was going with this… He felt sixteen again, like when Astrid fell into the dirt and pulled him into it when he’d offered her his hand. But this lightness was preferable to the suffocating thought of Jester’s tears, Jester aggressively painting Beau’s fingers and tightening her bun, Jester with her hands trembling, moving to turn the next page as she re-read  _Tusk Love_ …

Adele leaned back, resting her hands against her waist. “I think that would run you one silver, five copper,” she said, softly.

“I’ll count it out for you while you do this for me,” Caleb said, and she kind of beamed.

Beau rolled her eyes, and called out, as Adele turned to walk away, “He’s _actually_ gonna count them, you know,” as Caleb took out his coin purse and began the methodological process. She turned back to Caleb and scowled. “Dude? The fuck?”

“ _One… two… three… four… five_ ,” he said, putting the copper in a neat little tower beside the lonesome silver coin. “Sorry, what were you saying, Beauregard?”

She rubbed her face with both her hands. “Caleb, I don’t give a fuck about your sex life.” She looked horrified to have to utter that statement. “ _Trust me_. But… is now  _honestly_ the best time to be  _seducing_ a busty barmaid?” She tilted her head towards Jester, whose tail was still flicking aggressively, though the tiefling appeared utterly indifferent to him. She scowled. “She made me pay three silver, too.”

“But you’re so charming,” Caleb said, no inflection in his voice to indicate he was fucking with her. He put his coin purse back in his bag and turned back to look at the door Adele had disappeared into introspectively. “We aren’t… there’s nothing else to do, today, right?”

Beau followed his gaze, and her eyes widened momentarily as she realized where he was looking. She scowled. “No. Absolutely not. I have  _no idea_ what’s up with you, and what’s up with Jester, because she wouldn’t tell me  _shit_ , but there is no way I’m letting you fuck someone to avoid being with us all. Get your shit together and  _apologize._ ” By the time she was finished, she had stabbed her finger repeatedly into Caleb’s chest.

He pushed her hand away, and wrinkled his nose. “Aren’t your fists magical weapons?”

Beau smiled smugly. “Ja, asshole.”

“Don’t poke me with them, then,” he grumbled. He exhaled, and gestured to where Adele had disappeared. “Maybe this is… what I need.” He pointed to the counter. “I could just…” He took a deep breath, tried to ignore the way his heart was thrumming far too fast, the way his head felt a little too light. It felt hard to breathe, like someone was stepping on his chest. “You know?” He shrugged, hoping desperately she would get it.

Beauregard looked at him strangely. “You think she can, what? Fuck the trauma out of you?”

There was a sudden  _snap_ , and Caleb looked down to see the wire he’d been playing with had broken in two. He let out a soft little scoff, hating how his hands were suddenly trembling. “Is it… so hard to believe? That it might work?”

Beau seemed alarmed by the sudden softness in his voice. She reached her hands out and took the broken wire from his hands, placing it on the table. Then she lifted Frumpkin, and put him in his arms, and Caleb, in his wretchedness, couldn’t find it within himself to deny him. “Trust me,” she said, and she sounded so  _awkward_ when she was trying to be comforting. It was kind of endearing. “I’ve, uh. I’ve tried. Doesn’t work.”

Caleb lifted his shaking hand, and stroked Frumpkin’s soft purring form. Everything in him was telling him to clam up, and yet…. “Worked for me.” He let out the breath he was holding. “When the books didn’t.” He had no idea why he was spilling open for her, except that he kind of did.  _Don’t let yourself be a target, Bren_.  _She’ll test you more._  But she  _hadn’t_. He’d asked her not to talk about… him, the man in Rexxentrum, and she  _hadn’t._  And she’d kept his secret, when even Nott couldn’t. “Can’t… talk to her, if I haven’t—”

“ _Caleb_.” Beau sounded, behind all her bluster,  _furious_ … but it felt misdirected, like it wasn’t necessarily at him. Why wasn’t it at him? “Was this with… Astrid?”

She said her name all wrong, with her rough, brusque Common accent. It was the only reason he could look her in the eyes. “ _Astrid_. You’re butchering it.”  _At least that’s all she’s butchering_ , said the voice in his head, the voice in his head that sounded like  _her_ , with amusement. He could just imagine her there, leaning over him.  _We’ve done worse, Schatz._

“ _Astrid_ ,” Beau repeated, looking mystified. She said that name like it was an incantation, like it was one of his spells that she didn’t quite understand when she would sometimes look over his shoulder at his spellbook. “Are you…” She shut her mouth, pressing her lips into a thin line. “Well, fuck. You clearly aren’t  _okay_.” She darted her eyes to the door Adele had disappeared into, like some enemy on the battlefield had gone down that way. “I’m  _not_ letting you fuck her, in this state of mind.”

He pressed Frumpkin close to his chest, listening to the soft purring and trying to imagine himself back in his room, alone, with no one looking at him, where he could hate himself in peace. Back in his room, _with Adele_ , her making it so he wouldn’t have to think. “I  _want_ to apologize to Jester,” he said, scritching one of Frumpkin’s ears. The familiar’s tail lashed out slightly, not unlike Jester’s, and he knew he’d be getting shit all day for leaving him outside.  _I had to_ , he thought wildly. _I couldn't talk to you, either. I can barely talk to you now._  “I can't—I  _need—_ ”  _Fuck._ Why did Beau always have to make it so difficult for him? Why couldn't she just let him do what he needed to do?

“Caduceus said you were angry,” Beau said. She looked saddened, herself.  _You blot out the sun wherever you go, Caleb._ He didn’t  _mean_ to, he hoped she could tell how much  _he didn’t mean to_ — “I don’t think you’re angry at her, though. Or angry at me.” She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe a little, but I think you’re mostly angry at yourself.”

The door Adele had disappeared through  _finally_ opened, and Adele appeared, her hair like cotton candy and her bright brown eyes meeting his in an instant. She was holding a plate in her hands, presumably of what he ordered. Noticing the intensity of her gaze, she winked, a little bashfully, and he smiled at her. Effortless. Like a dance he could step right back into, when he and Astrid would sneak off, sneak out to feel the cool night air, and then make their way back in again.

Beau continued, watching him, “I think you’re  _scared_ of her.”

“Beauregard—” he said, his eyes following Adele.

“You think you’re safer if Jester hates you?” Beau sounded a little sick to her stomach. He couldn’t bear to look at her. She was… so fucking clever. He felt a rush of fondness for her, the monk who everyone had written off, who could read him like a book, who was talking, and expressing, what he couldn’t even begin to unravel in his heart of hearts. It felt… weird, to even admit she could be right about him. It felt wrong.

“I don’t  _want_ her to hate me,” he hissed.

“It’s better than the alternative, though,” Beau whispered. Adele was within hearing distance.

There was another  _thud_ , as Adele placed his plate on the table. She smiled, leaning close. Her head was tilted slightly, and the hair curling around her face made her look almost angelic.

 _Blonde hair_ , he thought.  _Like yours, Astrid._

“As ordered,” Adele said, smiling.

“Thank you,” Caleb said, as he offered her his coins. Beau watched as their hands met, her dark blue eyes probing and missing  _nothing_.

Adele pulled him a little closer, when they finally made contact, ignoring or at the very least disregarding Beau’s glower, and said, quietly, “My shift ends at the end of the hour.”

Caleb opened his mouth to respond, to assure her, but Beau beat him to the punch. “Unfortunate,” she said, before he could open his mouth. She slammed her hand against his back, probably intending it to be a gentle pat, and he winced. “We got to talk to a client, so he’s too busy to fuck your brains out.” She smiled, and bled a little into Tracy when she said, tilting her head to the side just the right amount to maximize how infuriating she appeared, “ _Sorry._ ”

Adele leaned back, letting go of his hand and smiling awkwardly. “Maybe next time.”

“ _Probably not_ ,” Beau called out, leaning slightly to the side with her hands curled around her mouth, as if that would actually increase the sound of her voice. She smirked as Adele’s face flattened into a look of unadulterated hatred, as the barmaid turned and left.

Caleb raised his eyebrow, and tried not to sound too annoyed. It would only satisfy her. “Remind me to do that the next time you meet literally any woman, ever.”

Beau smiled smugly, leaning back in her chair. “If I’m super fucked up, then yeah, do it.”

He retorted, without taking a pause, “You’re always fucked up, Beauregard.” It was alarming how used to this he was becoming, to this easy back-and-forth. It had been hard-won. It hadn’t always been easy. He tried to ground himself in the feeling of Frumpkin purring softly. He moved him up higher, so Frumpkin could be purring next to his ear.

“ _Relatively_ , Widogast. Like, for example”—and she gestured to essentially all of him—”you’re more fucked up than you usually are.” She stole a piece of his toast off his plate. “ _This_ , buddy, is a cry for help.”

He smirked a little, pleased to find the hole in the armor of her argument. “If I’m too fucked up to  _fuck_ , I’m too fucked up to have a very important negotiation with a powerful businessman who could ban us for  _life_ from Port Damali with the snap of his  _fingers_.”

Beau narrowed her eyes. “Wait—”

He flicked his eyes to Fjord and Jester, to her flicking tail and her beautiful ribbons and her lovely dress, to all of her, and he slumped his shoulders. “Beauregard,  _please_.” He met her intelligent gaze with his own. “I can’t do this today. I promise I won’t fuck the barmaid.” He sounded emphatic and open. Never say Caleb Widogast couldn’t lie when it mattered. “I’ll talk to Jester and clear the air, but this is all… it’s becoming a little too much.”

Beau looked to him, and then, after a truly frightening second where he thought she might see through him, she nodded, hesitantly. “Alright. I’ll tell them all you feel under the weather. But that you’re  _getting better_.” Her eyes searched for confirmation, and she smiled in satisfaction when he finally nodded. He could feel Bren inside of him, smirking a little.  _Liar, liar, dead parents on fire._ Beau swivelled in her chair, and said, loudly, to Fjord, and Jester, who was hissing at Fjord, probably because she’d lost her game ( _All of us know better than to play against him except you_ , he thought fondly), “Caleb’s sick, because his immune system is fucking balls, so we’re gonna talk to Count  _What’s-his-face_ without him.”

Fjord looked at him with interest. “ _Really?”_ He played with one of the straps in his piecemeal armor, and anxiously ran his hands through his hair. It was growing long again, and would soon need to be cut. “Uh, Caleb. I’m pretty sure your cat is an actual  _fucking_ demon, because it wouldn’t let me into our room last night.” Beau and Jester both raised their heads at that, and looked to Caleb. Fjord turned a darker shade of green, like he hadn’t intended for all that sudden attention. “I had to sleep with Caduceus and Yasha. On a single bed. Which was an interesting experiment, in terms of how many _extremely large_ people could fit on a single mattress.” He coughed.

Jester kind of giggled at that. “You’re  _very_ big,  _Fjord_.” She looked to Caleb, and her expression became hard again. “You should’ve let him  _sleep_ in his  _room_ , Cayleb.”

Caleb felt himself turn a little red, and he sunk in his chair. “I’m sorry,” he said, biting his lip. “I was… my head was, uh…” Jester was looking at him, and she looked annoyed, like she was worried despite herself, and  _fuck_ , her ribbons really were beautiful, he’d noticed a lot of tieflings in Port Damali tended towards that sort of fashion, and he wanted to compliment her, and he wanted to apologize, and yet—

“It’s alright,” Fjord said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “You’re, uh. Good, though?” He looked at Caleb searchingly.

Caleb nodded, thankful for Frumpkin’s little claws digging into his shoulder, keeping him here, not allowing him to drift and making him seem even more fucked up to his friends.

The conversation moved away from him, then, thankfully, and he watched gratefully as Beau was gentle with Jester, giving her reassuring shoulder pats and even a quick, embarrassed little hug that made Jester squeal with delight. He smiled at that. When Yasha and Caduceus made their way down, Yasha didn’t react much to Caleb’s desire to be alone besides an understanding nod, and Caleb felt a rush of fondness for her. There was something about her, something about her mage-killing blade, that made Caleb feel infinitely more at ease. She could do what needed to be done. Caduceus also met his gaze, but whatever he found in it, it made him look sad, like he had last night, and he didn’t try to talk to Caleb. Perhaps he understood now that his empathy would only make Caleb resent him more.

Nott, bless her, barely reacted at all, just shrugging and stealing some of the food out of his plate. She was more used to his bad days, and she knew how much worse they could get. She also knew how little crowding him would help. “Won’t let them take any of your share,” she muttered, giving him a quick hug, and then reaching for more of his food.

He smiled, and shoved the plate towards her.

She smirked at that, and said, “Don’t let Yeza die,” before shoving his plate back at him, and jumping off the table. He watched, as she followed his colorful, obnoxious, judgemental, nosey friends walk out the door, and he wondered, certainly not for the last time, why he let them put up with so much of his  _fucking_ bullshit.

As the door slammed shut, he waited a solid ten minutes, listening to the internal clock in his head, before snapping Frumpkin away, trying to ignore the _anger_ , and _annoyance_ , and _fear_ radiating off the familiar in waves as he felt himself dematerialize. He made his way over to Adele, at the counter.

She smiled, a little awkwardly. He could hardly blame her. “Can I help you, Caleb?”

The way she said her name conveyed far too much false familiarity, which made her _perfect_. He smiled, and he couldn’t tell if it was because this felt so wrong, or because this felt so right. “I’d like a drink, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

Adele stared at him, and then at his smile, and then his lips, and her own stiff expression kind of curled into something a little more real, which was nice. He wanted this to feel good, to feel real, for her. “Would you like some beer, Mister Widogast?”

He shrugged, not really caring at this point. He followed Adele with his gaze as she moved behind the counter, getting him a cup. “Sure.” He tilted his head a little, watching Adele get a little flustered as she poured his drink for him. “And how much would I owe you for this?”

She turned a little pink, as she placed the cup on the counter in front of him. “I, ah. I suppose it’s on the house.”

Caleb resisted the urge to raise his eyebrows. He hadn’t expected himself get into the rhythm of this quite so easily. He could almost  _hear_ Wulf laughing at him in the back of his head.  _Still breaking hearts, Bren?_ He would’ve then grabbed him by the shoulder, a little too close than what they had agreed was wise, and then—

Adele watched with wide eyes as Caleb drank, and drank, and dark through the sudden desire to throw up, and drank through how sensitive and raw the inside of his throat felt. She watched him place the cup carefully on the counter, much gentler than she had, and she watched him lean forward with a strange little smile playing on his lips.

“You’re very generous, Liebling.” He pulled a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “Let me pay for yours.”

She stuttered, “I’m, ah—I’m on the clock.” Her entire face reddened in such pretty ways…

“The hour is almost up,  _Schatz_.”


	3. Chapter 3

One of Adele’s arms was against his chest, and he could feel her fingers making soft patterns against his skin. He could also feel her smiling, from her face half-pressed against his shoulder, feel the soft heaving of her chest, and she was happy, it had been good for her, he could tell… but it felt strange. He remembered how Astrid would get up immediately after they’d finished making out, finished taking it however far they were willing to take it, and how he’d watch the smooth expanse of her skin disappear as she pulled down her shirt when it rode up, still sitting on the side of his dorm room bed. Sometimes she’d turn back to him, with a teasing smile. _Walk me out, Ermendrud. They’re trying to turn you into a proper gentleman, after all._ Sometimes she’d pin him against the door, stealing one last kiss, before she would move to exit their particular piece of heaven on Exandria.

She _never_ did this. She never laid beside him idly, humming under her breath, leaving a soft kiss on his shoulder… He looked with disinterested curiosity at how Adele was watching him through her lidded dark eyes, and wondered what else she expected from him.

“My friends will be back soon,” Caleb said, softly. His voice splintered through the heavy silence. He intertwined his fingers with hers experimentally, and wondered if that would please her.

She beamed, and he catalogued that in his head for _later_. He wondered why he was already fucking thinking about _later_. All that mattered right now was that he could feel _nothing_ , and that was all he could’ve fucking hoped for. She looked at their clasped hands. “So this is a _secret_?” There was something conspiratorial in her tone, something teasing, and something so painfully _hopeful_ …

Caleb refused to allow the gentle smile to drop from his face, even though he felt sudden panic at the sight of her doe eyes. She looked so _sweet_ , with her hair pulled to one side, in front of her left shoulder, with her head tilted and the light streaming from the windows making her skin glow. What was she doing _here_ , with _him_ , in one of the unoccupied rooms she’d opened with a key and wink? _She’s a romantic_ , he thought, and he thought of Wulf, whose talented tongue and confident gait masked how he would flush when Caleb would press a soft kiss against his knuckles. “It’s a secret. My friends,” _were worried sick about me while I fucked you_ , “are… protective sometimes.”

She leaned up, resting her weight on her forearms. “ _What_?” she said innocently, tilting her head to one side. One of her hands moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck. Her fingers were light, and teasing, and soft, and her smile was so gentle, and—it felt—it felt _off_. Caleb wanted her  _off_. “Do they think I’m bad news?”

He forced him not to flinch from her touch. He’d asked for this, he’d wanted this, he’d chased her, he’d pursued this, and then she’d given him what he'd wanted. She’d fucked all the racing, persistent thoughts right out of him, so he could do this, he could indulge her, it was the fucking _least_ he could do— “I think they maybe know that _I_ am.”

She— _Adele_ , he reminded himself—giggled. “I like someone who’s a _little_ bad news.”

He didn’t have to fake this laugh. It was a rough, harsh sound, and he watched her wince a little. “I’m not a _little_ , Schatz.” He saw her flush a little at the term of endearment, and he didn’t know why he kept using it when he knew her reaction to it. But, that wasn’t quite true, though, was it? Caleb Widogast always had an escape plan, and Adele was one of the prettiest ones he’d ever seen. He grimaced, as he realized to himself that he kind of resented her for it. He said, abruptly, looking away from her, “Uh, forgive me. I _do_ need to take care of some business.”

Adele wrinkled her nose at his decidedly _un_ romantic non-sequitur, but it didn’t interrupt the soft dream-like smile on her face. “Right, of course.” She moved to get up shyly, her face a little pink as she saw Caleb still looking at her. When he began to avert his eyes, she said, nervously, “I, uh. No, I don’t mind, we just—” Her face and her neck flushed red, as she put on her undergarments, and then her pants, and she was so much more awkward than Astrid, so much more blushing and unsure and smitten, and he didn’t necessarily know how that made him feel. He didn’t necessarily know that he wanted to.

He himself changed with false confidence, ignoring her eyes on him, ignoring her caught breath as he shouldered on his holsters, and gave her a curt nod afterward, all with that lazy fucking smile still playing on his mouth. _God_ , was he an asshole. If Wulf were here, he might’ve died of laughter. As Caleb moved past Adele toward the door, because he’d already made a litany of decidedly poor decisions, he put his hand behind her neck, and lulled her into a sudden, open-mouthed kiss.

Adele beamed, and he felt her hands travelling toward his shoulders, fingers lightly dancing against them. As he deepened the kiss, she reached toward the straps of his holsters, and he felt her fingers tugging slightly against them. Pulling away, she asked, her voice light and excited, “Can I expect this again?”

He rubbed his chin, and then the side of his neck, as he clenched and unclenched his jaw nervously. _No, never again. You’re never putting your hands on me again_. But he knew in his heart of hearts that saying it wouldn’t necessarily make it the case. He didn’t want her right _now_ , but perhaps the next time he met Jester’s hurt gaze, or the next time he thought about Caduceus’ disappointment… “We’ll see.”

Adele nodded, a little disappointed ( _In him, because he failed another fucking test—_ ), and she watched him leave the door, wringing her hands a little nervously. He kind of hated the weight of her gaze.

As soon as he made his way to the lower level, the tavern immediately felt like far too fucking much. He couldn’t look at the area where he’d seen Jester without thinking about her icy face and her snapping tail, and he couldn’t go toward the counter without imagining Adele leaning against it, and _Beau_? Beau’s gaze was everywhere. He could _feel_ her disappointment, just picture her shaking her head. He didn’t want to call Frumpkin, didn’t need that constant stream of judgement and empathy, so much _fucking_ empathy, but _Yeza_ , he’d promised Nott he’d take care of _Yeza_ … Caleb sighed, and resisting the urge to leave through the front door, he trudged his way back up to the second level, stumbled his way to the door he remembered Nott had claimed on her and her husband’s behalf. He waited just a second, and then knocked.

There was a distinct, maddening period where he could hear _nothing_ behind that door, and just when he thought he might lose his mind, he heard the halfling's light footsteps. Caleb stepped back as the door creaked about halfway open, and met Yeza’s wide, almost _guilty_ , eyes. His hair was a mess, and Caleb could see some soot smeared on the side of his face. Dirty goggles dangled down from his neck, and a faint acidic smell seemed to waft from inside the room, which made the strategic positioning of the door all the more suspicious. Yeza let out a nervous little laugh. “Oh, hey. Mister Caleb?”

Caleb resisted the urge to raise a skeptical eyebrow. He remembered that he and Beau had given Yeza and Nott a _talk_ , about not playing with chemicals while they stayed at local taverns, but after this morning, he didn’t feel like lecturing _anybody_ on quite literally _anything_. Whatever mess that was undoubtedly behind this door could not compare to the mess Caleb had left in the room down this hall, with a half-naked barmaid and rumpled sheets and an empty bottle of alcohol. And besides, the hapless look on the alchemist’s face was strangely endearing, in how it reminded him of Nott’s look when she’d accidently begun melting the floor of a room they’d rented out in Trostenwald. He began scratching at his arm nervously. “Sorry, uh. I’m sorry I disturbed your rest—”

Yeza smiled. “Hey, no problem, I mean—”

“But I—” He paused, and winced. “Sorry, you go ahead, I didn’t mean—”

Yeza bit his lip. “Oh, it was no—” He widened his eyes remorsefully, and after carefully waiting for Caleb to speak, said, hesitantly, “Did you, uh, need my help? With, like, alchemy things?”

Caleb ran his hand through his hair, finding himself nervous, which was strange considering Yeza was perhaps the most disarming person to ever exist. _And maybe that’s why_ , he thought a little bitterly, looking at Yeza’s innocent brown eyes. “I was instructed by Veth not to let you die.”

Yeza pursed his lips, and looked back at whatever accident he’d left in his room, before turning back to him. He gave Caleb an unconvincing smile. “I won’t die in my room, Mister Caleb.”

He leaned against the wall next to the door, and tilted his head, trying not to smirk too obviously. “Ja, sure. I believe you.” He paused, and watched Yeza squirm a little. “But I was going to run some errands, and I was thinking maybe… you’d like to come with me?” He tried not to wince as he finished offering his proposition. He _liked_ Yeza, thought he was an excellent husband to Nott. He would truly _hate_ if Yeza had to see Caleb up close and personal.

Yeza looked at Caleb inquisitively... _trustingly_. It made something in Caleb’s heart clench. “Is everything… okay with Miss Jester?” He looked down and began fiddling with the goggles around his neck, and Caleb could see some tar-like substance smeared on them. “Veth mentioned… you two had like a spat?”

Caleb looked away, and coughed. “Something… something like that.” He looked at his hands, twitching for something to do now that he’d fucked up his wire and he’d dematerialized Frumpkin, and clenched them into fists. He stared at his whitening knuckles. “My fault.”

Yeza took out a little handkerchief from one of his pockets. He was wearing patterned blue pants with a matching vest, over a dark shirt, because Nott had suggested he experiment more with his look, and Caleb had to admit it suited him. He moved past the door frame, carefully closing the door behind him, and wiped the goggles clean.

Caleb pointed to wear the soot was on his face. “You, uh—”

Yeza raised the same handkerchief to wipe against his face, and Caleb stared for a second in horror, before grabbing his arm. Yeza stared at him in surprise.

He stared meaningfully at the cloth. “Is that _safe_?”

Yeza followed his gaze, and then realization dawned on his face. “Oh, no. _No._ ”

Caleb shook his head, and took out his own rag. He wiped Yeza’s face with it, one hand under Yeza’s chin as the halfling squirmed a little. “Hold still,” he muttered. When his face was clean, Caleb leaned back, and shoved the cloth into one of his many pockets.

Yeza asked, eyeing his dirty rag as he did this, “Was that much safer?” At Caleb’s flat stare, he winced. “Sorry, I was—uh. I was trying to make a joke.” He looked like he was ready to physically hide in his vest.

Caleb sighed. “Would you please come with me?” he said, despite his desire to be alone, to disappear into the city and not have to inflict himself on anybody else. There was something about Yeza, something about how is every action screamed vulnerability, that made the idea of spending time alone with him especially daunting.

Yeza said, cheerfully, “I’d love to.”

Caleb nodded reluctantly, and tried to relax the tension in his shoulders. “I’ll, ah. Wait for you to get ready. Leave a note for Veth.” He ran through everything he needed in his head. “Tell her we’ll be looking for books, and, uh, a general store. I need wire.” He closed his eyes momentarily, as thoughts of soft hands on his shoulders, running down his back, running through his hair, ran through his mind. “And a bathhouse.” Looking down at Yeza’s bright, curious eyes, he added, “Of course, anywhere you’d like to—”

“Bookshop sounds pretty good with me,” Yeza interrupted, far too fast, and then he put his hands in his face in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

Caleb looked at him in surprise, and then, against his better judgement, his lips curled into a genuine little smile. “Hoping for something alchemy-related?” he asked, gently. “I don’t know if you’ll find it, though I am willing to help you search.” He could commiserate with a fellow book-hunter.

Yeza looked at him, and then averted his gaze, and muttered, cheeks flushing, “Hoping to find, some, uh.” He coughed. “Smut.”

Caleb raised both of his eyebrows, and fought not to display his sudden elation all over his face. He said, very flatly, with no inflection in his voice, “Didn’t peg you as that kind of guy.” He watched with an incredible amount of satisfaction as Yeza’s eyes looked at him with grief. “Don’t worry, I’m not one to judge.”

“Oh, I _know_.” Yeza looked at him from between his fingers, his hands still covering his flushing face. “Veth mentioned how entertaining it was… when others read it… out loud to her… and I thought it might be, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to do something fun for her.”

That was… extremely touching. Caleb smiled, and patted Yeza on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m great at finding the best bookshops in any city I go to. Just ask”—and he froze, momentarily, because _no_ , Yeza couldn’t ask Jester, because Jester was fucking _furious_ at him, and he deserved every single _bit_ of her rage—“uh, ask Beauregard.”

Yeza coughed again, wringing his hands. “I may need some _help…_ ”

Caleb realized he was beaming, just a little, which was strange, considering the woman he adored probably hated him, and if he thought too hard about what he did this morning, he might throw up. “I’m the best at finding tasteful smut, too, Yeza.” He figured that if he said _porn_ , the alchemist might actually die. He smirked. “Trust me.”

 

Caleb hadn’t been lying. In this one, extremely niche aspect, he was okay with Yeza trusting him _completely_.

They’d made their way over to the market square, Yeza holding onto one of Caleb’s pockets turned inside-out almost unconsciously to avoid being lost amongst the mass of people swarming through the different stalls. Caleb had almost suggested he carry him, and then remembered how bristling Nott had been those first few weeks when they’d been travelling, how _angry_ she’d been when she'd thought he'd been treating her like a child, and he figured Yeza wouldn’t be comfortable with Caleb holding him until they’d established a greater degree of familiarity. A degree Caleb never intended to establish, so it was a moot point, anyway. _Not that you’d intended to be close with any of these people_ , he thought bitterly. _And now look at you. Look at how a little blue tiefling affects you._

Yeza tugged on his pocket, and Caleb turned to him. “Hmm?” he said, trying not to feel too bothered by the sweltering sun above them. He noticed Yeza was similarly sweating, his pale skin also splotchy in the unforgiving heat. “Do you need to find some shade?”

Yeza scratched one of his sideburns. “I mean, that would be nice,” he said, and winced as someone pushed past him. “I’m just wondering if we’re _close_?”

Caleb smiled at the desperation in his voice, and then straightened his back to his full height to survey the stalls. He smiled in delight when he spotted a moderately busy booth with a display of paperbacks. “Hold on to me,” he said to Yeza with intense intent in his eyes, and Yeza, seeing the firmness in his gaze, nodded determinedly and tightened his grip on Caleb’s pocket. Caleb walked quickly and purposefully through the crowd, cutting through different groups unapologetically. They were unbothered for the most part, besides a large man who turned and cursed at them. Caleb flashed him his best imitation of Beauregard’s _don’t fuck with me_ smile, and the man kind of sighed, like it really wasn’t worth his time to escalate, just flipping them the finger and continuing on.

Yeza gaped behind Caleb as they passed him. “That dude had, like, a ton of muscles.”

He directed a little smile at the halfling as he continued pushing through people, finally seeing the stall within reach. “Good to know you and your wife have similar types,” he said, dryly.

Yeza turned red. “I—”

“Nice to see some fine gentlemen out here, amongst the _pieces of shit_ ,” they heard someone bellow, interrupting Yeza's rebuttal. The bookseller was pointing at them, and glaring at someone else, who was walking away from the stall with a hunched back. He turned and scowled, giving the seller the middle finger before continuing to walk away. The seller returned the middle finger pleasantly, before turning back to Caleb and Yeza.

Caleb made his way forward, with Yeza anxiously trailing behind him. “If I see some, we’ll let you know,” he said. Yeza made a discomfited noise, and Caleb realized simultaneously that he wasn’t alone, and that his shitty, self-deprecating jokes weren’t always appreciated by everybody. “Not that—I meant—” He raised his hand toward Yeza sheepishly.

The seller looked at them, unimpressed. He was an older man, with a thick mustache and tanned, brown skin. Caleb could spy tattoos running up his neck and down his thick, firm arms. There was a slight drawl in the way that he spoke, in the way that his dark eyes glittered, that made Caleb tilt his head and smile. “What can I sell you assholes?”

Yeza peeked out from behind Caleb’s leg, wide-eyed and nervous. “Interesting way to run a business,” he muttered, and then he winced slightly at the seller’s glower.

Caleb smirked. “I’d like to acquire some, ah, literature. Something sensual, yet tasteful.” He could feel Yeza pressed behind his leg, nod with approval. “Well-written?” he added, crossing his arms.

The seller stared at him, and then at Yeza, and then he shrugged. “Working this for someone else. Everything’s five silver. Take what you want.” He leaned forward, like he was genuinely interested in what Caleb would pick.

Caleb nodded, and pulling forward, against the drag of Yeza holding onto his leg, he began to search through the different works. Yeza leaned in despite himself, watching Caleb’s hands dance through the different titles, and flit here and there in search of a good read. There were a surprising number of promising options, but despite himself, he couldn’t help but eye the cover with a jewellry-clad tiefling, with gorgeous ribbons adorning her horns… he reached for it. _Countess of Clovenburry_. A rich heiress who had to choose a suitor, or her entire fortune would go to her younger sister… because of some archaic laws that demanded it be so… His eyes raced across the synopsis, and he couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of Jester looking at the cover of a scantily clad red tiefling woman gasping over… a human man… Oh, no. He put the book back in its initial spot, feeling himself turn red. Oh _god_ , no.

Yeza, who’d been watching him read the back of the tome, suddenly moved past him and grabbed it, looking at the cover determinedly, despite the blush crawling up his face. “This one’s fine.”

Caleb winced. “Really?” he asked, weakly. “Wouldn’t you, uh, rather—” He gestured to the dozens of other books desperately.

Yeza looked up at him, just as embarrassed. “It’s what you picked first, right? You said… you were really good…” He looked at the moaning tiefling woman, and winced. “I’d like one more, too.”

The bookseller watched this, his eyes dancing from Caleb to Yeza. His once impenetrable frown had shifted slightly, into an almost smug half-smile.

Caleb looked back to the stack of books, feeling the two pairs of eyes on him. “Would you like one specifically with halflings, or is that weird?” He rubbed his jaw. “Too, ah, close to—”

“Either is fine,” Yeza interrupted, his voice even higher than usual.

Caleb hummed to calm his nerves and kept looking through the pile, eventually settling on a book that had two half-elf farmers on the front. They were resting on a pile of hay, and though the man seemed mostly undressed, with his groin artfully covered with the placement of the woman’s hand, the woman was fully clothed, with just one strap of her overalls teasingly slipping down. A married couple reuniting and rekindling their relationship… He picked it up silently and offered it to Yeza.

Yeza stared at the cover doubtfully, but as he turned to the back, and read through synopsis, Caleb could see a lopsided smile work its way onto his face. He looked up at Caleb and beamed. “Yeah,” he said softly. “This will do nicely.”

Caleb passed one gold coin to the seller, who watched him with a raised eyebrow. “Y’all make for a weird couple,” he muttered, tucking the coin into one of his pant pockets.

Yeza raised his hands in alarm. “Oh, no. I mean—no offense, Caleb, but I have a _lovely wife_ , she’s so _talented_ , she’s the _best_ with a crossbow, but we’re just _friends_.”

Caleb froze momentarily, and missed the bookseller’s most assuredly uncaring, dickish response. _Friends_. He met Yeza’s hesitant, hopeful gaze, and he thought, not for the first time this trip, _Fuck_.

 

Yeza was silent as they made their way to the bathhouse. Caleb had secured instructions on how to get there from the bookseller, and after having bought some wire, some of which he was anxiously twisting in his hand right now, they’d enjoyed a silent walk, now in a less busy street.

“Did I make it weird?” Yeza suddenly demanded. There was genuine panic on his face. He was worrying his bottom lip with distress.

Caleb looked away from his fucked up fingers and his fucked up wire, and to Yeza’s vulnerable face, and he said, sighing, “No. You didn’t make it weird.”

“Because I get it,” Yeza babbled, his hands clutching both books protectively. His cheeks were still rosy from earlier, and his hair was greasy from how sweltering the day had been. Caleb was sure he looked similarly awful. “I’m the new guy, and you’re all Veth’s friends, and you’re all just _stuck_ defending _me—_ ”

He stopped in his tracks, and watched Yeza continue walking for a couple seconds, before the halfling paused and turned back towards him. His eyes were wide. “Is that what you think?” Caleb demanded, crossing his arms.

Yeza bit his lip. “I mean.” He rubbed the back of his head with his hand. “I can’t help you fight monsters, and you got to drag me along until we can get to _Luke—_ ”

Caleb raised his hand. “We’re not _stuck_ defending you, Yeza Brenatto. We love Veth, and we want her to be with her family.” He tilted his head, and gave Yeza what was sure to be a painful-looking smile. “And we _like_ you. Believe me, if we didn’t, you’d know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure Veth has told you about how we’re all kind of assholes.”

“She has, yes,” Yeza said, immediately. He smiled, tapping his fingers rhythmically against one of the books. “It’s kind of funny, actually, some of the stories.”

Caleb nodded. “And, uh…” He ran his hand through his hair, wincing as he felt the slicking sweat. “ _You_ didn’t make it weird. _I_ made it weird. I, uh.” He looked away. “I’m sorry.”

There was a pause where Caleb didn’t hear anything, beyond the caws of pigeons, and then he heard the light sound of Yeza’s footfalls as the halfling made his way over to Caleb. “So we _are_ friends?” he asked, softly.

Caleb closed his eyes, pained. “ _Ja_ ,” he admitted. He clenched and unclenched his fists, and then, after a moment, met Yeza’s gaze. “Ja. We’re, uh. We’re friends.”

Yeza's face broke into a beaming smile. “Then I can admit I wanted this for you.” He offered Caleb _Countess of Clovenburry_. At Caleb’s raised eyebrows and sudden pinkness, he said, tucking a loose strand behind his ear, “I could tell you wanted it, but were too embarrassed. And you took me to the stall, when I would’ve been too scared to come alone…” He took a deep breath, like he was preparing to admit something awkward, or painful, or both. “I was an odd duck, in Felderwin. So was Veth. We didn’t have, like… a _ton_ of friends. I had more than she did.” He looked down. “Still not many. But I thought this is what friends do.”

Caleb looked at the obscene image on the cover, of a red tiefling with her clothes tumbling off, biting her bottom lip as she gazed at the man under her… He sighed, and leaning down, he pulled Yeza into an awkward, uncomfortable hug. It was made more bearable by the fact that Yeza seemed just as weird about it as he was. “ _Danke_ ,” he muttered, roughly, and then he pulled away.

Yeza smiled, and he looked very handsome in the orange glow of the sunlight, in his own befuddled, nerdy way. Caleb mentally congratulated Nott. “You too,” he said, scratching the side of his head.

Caleb looked away, and coughed. “Let’s go find the bathhouse.”

Yeza nodded, immediately. “ _Ja_.”

Caleb hid his smile as he continued leading them down the street.

 

The woman at the counter smiled at them stiffly. “It would be an additional gold for your clothes to be cleaned for you.” Her red hair was pulled back severely into a tight bun at the back of her head, and there was a dull, flat look in her eyes that made it evidently clear she was barely present. There was such seething resentment emanating from her towards them that Caleb kind of adored the idea of messing with her.

He turned and looked down to meet Yeza’s gaze. “Would you like your clothes washed?” He drummed his fingers against the counter, and watched the woman glare at him. He was a total fucking hypocrite, wasn’t he? Bitching about how much Jester fucked with people in their day-to-day lives, as if he didn’t love that shit.

“If we have the gold,” Yeza said, feeling with one of his fingers his shirt collar. “Today was, um. A _really_ bad day.”

Caleb smirked at him. “You’re lucky. Usually I would’ve spent everything I had on paper and ink for my magic, but I searched this place up and down yesterday and there were _no shops that sold magical items._ ” He closed his eyes, and willed away his annoyance. He opened his eyes to see Yeza smiling at him. “What?” He realized, a little horrified, that he felt self-conscious.

“Nothing,” Yeza said, putting his hands up defensively. “Don’t worry, Caleb. We’ll get you paper and ink.”

He didn’t like how warm and familiar the way Yeza said his name already was. They’d known him for such a small period of time, and yet… though, as his ticking brain kept reminding him, it had only been a matter of _months_ that he’d known the Mighty Nein… _Still breaking hearts, Ermendrud?_ He sighed, at Wulf’s ever-present judgement in the back of his head. _Eventually, yes. Soon, even, if I keep my fucking bullshit up. But right now? Just my own. And Jester Lavorre’s._ Only one of those transgressions was forgivable.

The woman coughed, and Caleb slid an additional gold coin towards her. She eyed it coolly.

Yeza looked at him with alarm. “What about you?”

He shrugged, trying to ignore how uncomfortable he felt in his sweat-stained clothes. “I’m fine,” he muttered. It would be good for him to stay uncomfortable. It was the least he deserved, after a day like today.

Yeza gave him a look that made it seem like he was trying to imitate Nott. “ _Caleb._ ”

It was the least threatening scold he’d ever received. Caleb still had to force himself not to wince, though, as he felt the warm inflection of Yeza’s voice on his name wash over him again. It was more than he deserved. It was more than he knew what to do with. He silently pushed forward another gold coin, and tried not to feel too… good, bad, whatever the _fuck_ was in his chest right now, as Yeza gave him an approving smile.

They were led to a private room, where Caleb could see there were two tubs next to each other, separated by a nice, peach curtain. The walls were also peach-coloured, and there was a soft and distinct smell Caleb couldn’t identify, which made him feel, despite the discomfort of being in public spaces in general, at ease. Caleb nodded at the woman, who looked like she was barely holding back rolling her eyes, and shut the door on her face.

Yeza let out a snort behind him, and Caleb smiled. “You enjoy that, don’t you?” he said.

Caleb shrugged, and made his way to the other tub, stripping off his clothes quickly and placing them on the little side table beside the tub. He then made his way in, feeling his muscles almost involuntarily relax against the coolness of the water as the unease the sweat had been causing all day was almost instantaneously erased. He could almost forget the feeling of lips against his sternum, hands following the sides of his body, her nails as she pulled him close, pulled his head toward hers—and he thought of Jester—who’d looked so _angry_ and so _worried_ when Beauregard said he couldn’t come with them—

He heard splashing, and it pulled him out of it. He cleared his throat, and winced at how rough he sounded. Why the _fuck_ did he sound so affected? He’d made his choice, and it had made him feel good. Until he’d seen her fucking _doe eyes_ … He’d hurt her, he’d hurt her by being himself and making her know him, and making her _want him_ —

He heard the splashing again, and then a soft yelp, and Caleb asked, hesitantly, “Are you okay, Yeza?”

“Uh,” Yeza responded nervously. “Yes?”

“You seem to be having a little trouble,” he continued, thankful his voice was composed and grateful that there was a curtain so Yeza didn’t have to see him all fucked up. He reached for the soap and began to in earnest clean his body.

Yeza coughed. “This tub is, just. It’s great!” He added, after a second, a little softly, “ _Big_.”

Caleb smiled a little at his befuddled tone. He hadn’t had this issue with Nott in Trostenwald because Nott hadn’t gone _in_ the water… “You’re not gonna drown yourself, are you?” he called out. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out for the provided shampoo and began to lather it into his hair.

“Uh—” Yeza’s weak response was interrupted by the door opening. One of the employees came in, his gaze respectfully averted. “I’m here for your garments,” he called out, already making his way to Yeza’s side of the room first. When he came by Caleb’s side table, he leaned forward and said, delicately, “You may need to help your halfling friend,” before grabbing Caleb’s clothes.

Caleb watched him leave, and then washed out the shampoo in his hair. When he felt satisfied that he was no longer as dirty as sin, he said to Yeza, conversationally, “I think I should pull back the curtain, so I can make sure you won’t die.”

There was a pause, and then he heard Yeza say, sounding defeated, “Good idea.”

Caleb smirked, and then pulled back the curtain, to see Yeza struggling to keep his head over the water, both his hands gripping the side of the tub closest to Caleb. He immediately leaned forward, grabbing Yeza’s hands and pulled him up slightly, before moving to hold him by placing his hands under his shoulders. He tilted his head. “Veth _did_ mention you’re short for a halfling…”

Yeza blushed. “All the Brenattos are,” he mumbled. “Could you, uh…” Caleb watched as suddenly his eyes widened as he looked at Caleb’s upper body. “Oh,” he said, and he averted his gaze. “You have, uh…”

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “What?” He felt suddenly self-conscious.

Yeza said, looking like he truly wanted to die from embarrassment, “Bruises.”

 _Hickeys._ Caleb widened his eyes, the horror on his face matching Yeza’s. He’d told her not to leave marks on his neck, but he’d said nothing about his sternum, or his shoulders, or lower down his chest… _Fuck_ , he didn’t even want to fucking look. “This—”

“None of my business!” Yeza yelped. “I know, I’m sorry. I won’t tell.” His hands were covering his face. He peaked through them, to meet Caleb’s gaze. “Is that… you and Miss Jester…” He bit his lip. “Is that why… you two have been weird, like Veth said?”

Caleb felt like there were cold fingers around his heart, threatening to squeeze and tear him apart. “Yeza,” Caleb said, hating how brittle and closed off his voice sounded. It felt suddenly harder to breathe. Yeza shrunk away from him, from the icy and dismissive expression on his face. “I am _not_ talking about this with you. Please don’t…” He slumped his shoulders, exhausted. “This is private.”

“Sorry,” Yeza repeated, softly.

Caleb looked at his rough, burnt hands, holding up the little halfling with the remorseful eyes and the soft face. “Sorry,” he echoed, miserably. “I don’t… I don’t set out to be like this.”

There was a pause, and then Yeza patted his arm. “Hey.” He waited for Caleb to meet his gaze. “It’s okay.” At Caleb’s doubtful look, he repeated, widening his eyes for emphasis, “ _It’s okay_. I swear.” He looked beyond Caleb’s shoulder, to Caleb’s side table. “Could you pass me some soap?”

Caleb laughed. It was soft, and a little rough, and a little wrong. But Yeza was kind of beaming, so it couldn’t have been that painful. It couldn’t have been that broken. “How do you want to do this, my friend?”

 

By the time Caleb and Yeza had made their way back to _The Drunken Sailor_ , it was an hour until sunset. Everyone was lounging in the lower level of the tavern, and all their eyes flitted to the door at the sound of it opening. Caleb wondered distractedly how many people they’d scared before he and Yeza had arrived. His gaze went immediately toward Jester, who was sitting alone in a table near the back. She was fiddling with a deck of cards. Her hair was slightly dishevelled, one of the lovely ribbons torn on the right horn, and Caleb smiled at the thought of the story that must be there.

Nott beamed at the two of them. “Oh, thank _god_ , you two.” Her voice pulled Caleb’s gaze toward her. She jumped down from the stool she was sitting in, next to the counter, and made her way over to Yeza, pulling him into a deep hug. She sniffed his hair and patted his back approvingly. “Scrawling _Books, wire, bath with Caleb_ isn’t incredibly helpful, honey.”

Yeza blushed. “Oh,” he said weakly, hiding the the book underneath his vest incredibly obviously. “Sorry, sweetie.”

Nott looked at him, and then down at his vest, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

“For later,” he mumbled, his entire face painfully red.

Nott’s expression remained the same, until understanding dawned on her face. She smirked, and turned to Caleb, moving to hug his left leg. He patted her shoulder almost instinctively. “Thank you for not killing my husband,” she said, seriously. Quieter, she added, “You better, now?”

Caleb looked at Yeza, and Yeza kind of looked at him, in a way that he surely must’ve thought was discreet, and Caleb smiled. “I think so.”

Nott nodded, letting go of him and offering him a hefty sack. “Your share,” she said, intertwining her fingers with Yeza’s. She jutted her chin out, to where Jester was sitting. “She’s been moody all day, Caleb.” She bit her lip, and then kind of smiled. “For a second there, I thought she might _actually_ murder Fjord, which I’m always down for, but you know.” She shrugged.

Fjord raised his glass, interrupting his conversation with Beau to say, “Fuck you, too, Nott!”

Nott cheerfully gave him the middle finger, before looking back at Caleb expectantly. “I don't like seeing my partner in crime sad, Caleb. I doubt you do? When are you gonna talk to her?”

Caleb stared at her, and then winced. “Ja, I, uh. I will. I am.” He looked back at Yeza, who gave him an encouraging smile, and squared his shoulders. _Stay on task, Widogast_. He’d fucked around all day, literally and figuratively, and all of it... brought him right back to her. What she was thinking. How she was doing. They needed, as loathe as he was to admit it, as much as it scared him, as much as _she_ scared him, to talk. He moved past Nott, and feeling everyone’s eyes on him, with varying levels of discretion, he approached Jester Lavorre.

She, to her credit, kept looking at the cards in her hand. _Molly’s cards_ , he realized, as he got closer. He wanted to comfort her, to apologize for not keeping her friend, _their_ friend, alive. Apologize for even for a second contemplating leaving her with Lorenzo, that cold night, with only Frumpkin to talk to. He had so much to say, so many regrets, and he wondered how he would ever stop apologizing once he started. He stared at her face, at her lovely stiff expression that was as impenetrable as it was before, and he fell more in love. He watched with subtle delight as she picked out cards with no rhyme or reason, scowling at what they revealed.

“Lavorre,” he said, softly, as he reached the end of her table.

Jester looked up at him, with her icy eyes. “Ja?”

Even in this painful, horrible circumstance, hearing her speak Zemnian brought a smile to his lips. He sighed, running his hand through his hair, and leaned down, closer to her. He wondered if this was all that everything was, a long painful road to getting closer to her, if she would still have him. “May we talk?”


	4. Chapter 4

Jester played with one of her braids nervously as Caleb paced anxiously in the room she and Beauregard had claimed. Her hair was a mess compared to how tightly her two braids had been done in the morning, with small tufts pulled out of their intended positions here and there, and her skin was slightly darker near her right cheek, almost like she was _bruised—_

He jutted his chin out, towards the mark, as he finally made his way over to the chair in the corner, forcing himself to sit down. It was the same chair he’d been sitting in the night before, when his entire perception of Jester Lavorre had changed, when it felt like the _entire world_ had become distorted, shifted under his feet, and he’d fallen through the cracks ever since. “That looked like it must’ve hurt,” he said, wringing his hands nervously.

Jester nodded. It had been her who’d suggested taking this talk upstairs, and it had been her careful eyes that had watched how he’d momentarily frozen, before nodding his head shakingly. _We don’t have to_ —, she’d begun, before Caleb had suddenly interrupted, looking at her with wide eyes, _But I want to_. That hadn’t necessarily been a lie. And if it had been, it wasn’t with any ill intention. He wanted to feel safe with Jester. He wanted to look into her eyes, and not track the way her hands were moving, and only look at her lips with desire rather than out of caution that she might begin mouthing arcane words under her breath. “You should’ve seen the other guy, Cayleb,” she muttered. _You should’ve come with us._

“Ja,” he mumbled, taking out the wire he’d bought. “I should’ve.”

There was an awkward pause, as Jester played with one of her braids and Caleb stared at his burned hands. He was already fiddling with the ends of his new wire, and was grateful he’d had the foresight to buy extra, more than would normally be required for the _Message_ cantrip. He clenched his hands around it, staring with endless fascination at his stretched, whitened knuckles and further down his arm, at the light, faded surgical scars that he sometimes felt he’d gotten a lifetime ago and sometimes felt he’d gotten yesterday. Just as he opened his mouth to fill the silence with _something_ , _anything_ , because this entire day seemed to compound onto him right this second and fill him with dread and fear and worry, Jester said, softly, “I thought you’d left.”

He raised his head up in surprise. “ _Jester_ —” he began, a little horrified.

She played with the pink ribbon that held her braid together so helplessly that it killed any sound remaining in his wretched throat. “When we came back from the meeting, we couldn’t find you _anywhere_. Caduceus was about to use his spell for _locating people_ , since he had that prepared because maybe he thought you would run _too…_ ” She bit her bottom lip, which Caleb realized with dread was _trembling_ … “It wasn’t until Nott checked on Yeza that she found the note.” She looked down at the cards on her lap, and roughly ran her gloved hand against her eyes, and glared at him. “I thought I was gonna lose another _friend_.”

Caleb bit the inside of his cheek, and took a shuddering breath. He ran a hand through his hair, and didn’t miss how Jester’s gaze followed the movement. There was something dark in her eyes, something else mixed in with all that anger, something that, despite the situation, made him… almost want to _smile_. “I’m sorry I didn’t leave a better note.” _I just needed to escape the mess I made_.

Jester wrinkled her nose. “And I kept pulling _shitty_ cards too, which made me think you were _dying_ in a _ditch_.”

He clenched and unclenched his jaw. “I’m… really sorry I scared you, Jester.” Caleb played with the wire, looping it around one his charred fingers, and he said, not looking at her, “But I would _never_ run. I promised you all, I promised _Beauregard_ , that I wouldn’t.” He exhaled. “And, uh. I wished to apologize for my words last night. They were… cruel. Meant to hurt.”

There was a pause, and then he heard Jester’s bitter voice. “That’s not really true, though, Cayleb.” There was an icy, almost dismissive inflection to usual warm voice, which made her voice sound so jarring that Caleb, snapping his head up to look at her, had to wonder if it really came from Jester at all. “You _would_ run.” The shadows in the room played interestingly on her face, making her eyes seem impossibly, impenetrably dark. “You barely _look_ at me. It kind of feels like you’re running _right now_.”

Caleb hissed, hating how he automatically squared his shoulders defensively, and how his hands were trembling just slightly, and how _fucking cornered he felt_ , “It’s taking _everything_ for me to be here with you.”

Jester leaned back, blinking several times in a way that made it evident she was holding back moisture in her eyes. Her shoulders were also shaking. “ _Me too, Cayleb._ ” She exhaled, and there was a sound on her throat, like she was trying to laugh but there wasn’t enough air in her lungs. “Last night… you didn’t sound like _yourself_. The cat-loving, dirt wizard we all _know_. You were _trying_ to make Caduceus not like you.” She took a deep breath, and angrily wiped her eyes again with her glove, unable to stop herself from crying. “I think… maybe a part of you _wanted_ me to overhear… a part of you _liked it._ ” She met his stricken gaze. “And that counts as running.”

He let go of the wire with one hand and began rubbing at his scarred arm with it, hating how much he was shaking, how much _she_ was shaking, how much he’d _made her tremble with his selfishness and stubbornness and bullshit_ — “I didn’t—I wouldn’t—” And he clamped his mouth shut, because she was _right_ , he’d even admitted the same to himself earlier, and yet it was so hard for him to admit it to her, because somewhere along the way he’d stopped wanting her to see him as a selfish coward, even as he ached for it. He bit his bottom lip, took a trembling breath. She watched him almost _pleadingly_ , and he didn’t know what to say, what would make it hurt less for her— _If you show her how fucked up you are, she’ll test you more_. Astrid in his head, Astrid in his heart, showing him how to cover the bruises that spread from her cheek all the way down to her neck.

Jester tilted her head to the side. “Just tell me the truth, Cayleb,” she almost begged, and her hands were grabbing parts of the bedsheet, and he could see how her muscular arms were tensed, like she was forcing herself to stay, and _wasn’t that just like him, just like Caleb Widogast, to not follow Astrid’s single rule, that was supposed to protect himself and protect others._  “Tell me the truth,” she repeated, looking at him like all she ever wanted in this world was to believe what would come next out of his mouth.

He took a deep breath, and averted his gaze. “I fucked someone in the morning,” he said, miserably. Shame colored every word that came out of his mouth. He stared with his shoulders slumped at Jester’s pink nails. “I don't—I thought it would be like before.” He hated how pathetic he sounded. Him and all his _fucking_ excuses—

Jester let go off the the bedsheet, and placed both hands on her lap. After a long, painful pause, he heard her let go of the breath she was holding, and say, a little weakly, “… _Like before_?”

He let go of the wire, and winced as he heard it clatter onto the floor. Slowly, he brought his fingers to his face, and buried his surely wretched expression in his fucked up hands. He could hear himself breathing, but it felt… false, somehow, like it was coming from something else, something underneath his skin. His head felt light, and he could feel tears prickling in his eyes. “I love books, Lavorre. But, uh. sometimes they weren’t enough, and… Astrid showed me another way…” He could still remember the pathway from Master Ikithon’s office to her room. Near the end, he could’ve made it there in pitch dark, without having to use the _Dancing Lights_ cantrip to illuminate the path. It had been Ikithon after all who'd shown him how to train his already sharp mind to never forget a detail once he learned it. It was more discrete, to walk in the dark. Everything had to be discreet.

Jester’s soft voice splintered through his memories. “She showed you a different _way_?” There was a lilt to her voice, near the end, which made the statement interrogative rather than declarative. He could see through his darkened fingers her biting her lip, rubbing at her arms. “Like, with _fucking_?”

He nodded, lips quirking up almost instinctively at Jester's tone, which seemed curious in spite of herself, in spite of—well, fucking everything. “Astrid had… all kinds of tricks. Some she showed me.” He bit the inside of his cheek, and forced himself to continue. “Bruises were easy. Cuts were easy. But, uh. _Jester…_ ” It felt wrong to say her name with his ruined, rough voice. “You know when you have a scar, but you, uh. Don’t remember _how_?”

Jester’s eyes widened. Of course she understood. She was entirely too clever, just like Beauregard. Just like Caduceus. _Fuck_ , even just like Yeza. He'd never stood a chance. He wondered if Astrid could’ve, if she’d had these nosey, brilliant people constantly breathing down her neck. Despite herself, Jester managed to say, keeping her voice modulated, “On my ankle. Momma said I slipped down the _stairs_ when I was, like, _two_.” She winced. “Tried to _escape_ my room when she was trying to change my diaper.”

He smiled a little, behind his hands. “It isn’t… He was cruel, sometimes.” Jester’s lovely, freckled shoulders tensed at the mention of his teacher, her elegant jaw clenching slightly, and it still put him at a loss, seeing how much his friends could hate someone they barely knew on his behalf. He really, truly, didn’t know what to do with all that fucking trust. All that fucking empathy. “But, uh. Sometimes he was merciful. There were days I woke up, with my entire body aching… and I wouldn’t know why.” His voice became a little lilting, more lilting than it normally was, as he finished his sentence. “Uh… scars without stories. Bruises with no history, and I think. I think maybe that was his mercy. Changed what I knew so it would be easier for me.” He closed his eyes, and then admitted, against all his better judgement, against everything that had been ingrained in him since he was fifteen, “It’s what I don’t remember that scares me the most, sometimes.”

There was a silence, until he heard Jester get up off the bed, and listened to her footfalls as she made her way over to him, in the wooden chair he was sitting in. She pulled back his hands, and he stared at his ruined ones in hers, and then she put her finger underneath his chin, forcing him to look at her. She was worrying her lovely bottom lip, and her jaw was still clenched, and her braids were slightly messier than they had been since they’d begun talking, since she’d been pulling at them and messing with them throughout their conversation, and her _face_ …. It was full of so many mixed emotions, so much fear and anger and _protectiveness_. She felt so deeply, and it was so terrifying, and the only thing that kept Caleb grounded was the fact that it was infinitely better than the flat impassiveness she’d shown him before.

He let his admission rest in the hollow silence, in Jester’s steady gaze, until he couldn’t bear to, and rushed to fill it. “Astrid couldn’t hide that with make-up, but she had other ways, of making it so I didn’t have to think.” He laughed, a little, and he winced at that harsh, coarse sound. “So I’d never had to think again.”

Jester looked to their intertwined fingers, and a sad little smile played on her lips. “Did it help, _though_?” At his furrowed eyebrows, she clarified, “The _fucking_. Did it _help_?”

He let out an abortive little laugh, his lips weakly curling at the ends. Jester watched his face carefully, tightening her grip on his hands. The feeling of her cold skin against his was a little maddening. “For a little while. Not as much as I remembered.”

Jester hummed under her breath. “Maybe it  _never_ worked,” she suggested, moving closer into his space. She let go of one of his hands, and let her now free arm rest on his shoulder, and push him back against the chair frame. “Or, _maybe_ , you know… what works in the short-term doesn’t work in the _long-term_.”

“Long-term?” he repeated, trying not to get swept up in the way that her eyes glittered. The teasing light in her eyes was more than he ever could’ve hoped for, and something in her searching gaze felt like redemption… if she would allow it. Just the thought was entirely too much, and it scared the fuck out of him. It was only the sudden, desperate hope expanding in his chest that could compare to his fear.

She moved to the side, letting go of his other hand, and before Caleb had a chance to feel disappointed, and then chastise himself for feeling that disappointment when her rejection was the very least that he deserved, he widened his eyes as she leaned down, and sat on his lap, throwing one arm over his shoulder and placing her other hand under his chin, and around his cheek, to make him look at her. “Like maybe you’ve been scared for a _long time_.” She looked away a little, and bit her lip. “And things that used to work, uh. _Don’t_ , anymore, you know.”

Caleb raised his eyebrows, and, hesitantly, not knowing where he found the courage, or the fucking _nerve_ , raised a trembling hand, to touch Jester’s cheek. Jester’s eyes widened, as she felt him tilt her head toward him. “Are you scared, Jester?”

She let out a nervous little laugh, and he could feel the pressure of the hand resting against his chin suddenly become lighter, as Jester’s eyes clouded with doubt. “ _Well_ , you know,” she said, her voice higher than normal. Her cheeks and neck flushed a little. “Everything’s gotten _scarier_ , now. Caduceus _died_ , like Molly _died_. We all have things to do, and I… get worried sometimes? That it’s gonna get too _tough_ and people will _leave_.” She bit her lip, staring at his face like she was trying desperately to memorize it. It kind of broke his heart. “You know.”

“I won’t leave, _Schatz_ ,” he murmured, and then winced. He’d used that term so _carelessly_ , and now a part of it felt… used, wrong. Like he was trying to be deceptive, trying to lull Jester into not asking too many questions, when that _wasn’t_ what he wanted. Just the thought of following his worst instincts and becoming that sickly caricature of himself to use her made him want to throw up.

Jester smirked. “ _What_ , did you use that on _her_?”

He felt himself flush pink. He examined the pretty ribbons on her horns, looking fondly at the one that was torn up, and nervously clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Uh.” He exhaled. “Ja.” If weren’t for her hand on his cheek, he would’ve looked away.

She had a little shit-eating grin on her face, and she turned a little in his lap, so she could better face him. “You’re being _awkward_ , Cayleb.” She moved her hand to run it through his hair, and watched with dark eyes as he leaned into her touch. “Maybe,” she said, tilting his head up just a little by pulling back his hair gently, “you know that word is for _me_?”

He met her confident gaze, and watched there be a slightly more vulnerable look flit across her eyes, and he said, forcefully, “Ja.” He tried to hide the shock on his own face at how certain, how _sure_ , he sounded. “Ja, it’s your word, Lavorre.”  _If you would still have it_ , he thought, a little desperately.

Jester beamed. Her eyes flicked to his neck, and she had a Cheshire's smile dancing on her beautiful lips. “No hickeys?” Her other hand travelled to his neck, trailing downward. He didn’t dare breathe as he felt Jester open the first button of his shirt with her clever fingers.

“Not on the neck,” he admitted, feeling his cheeks and neck redden. “Uh, elsewhere…” He thought of Yeza’s hapless look and winced. He hadn’t looked…

She leaned down, and placed a careful kiss right under his chin, and Caleb was pretty sure he was going to die. He felt her smiling, and this, _this_ didn’t feel like a burden, _this_ didn’t feel like _escape_ , because they had so much they needed to talk about, and so much he realized he _wanted_ to talk about, _needed_ to talk about, like Jester’s shaking lower lip from earlier and how alone he’d made her feel, and how much he needed to atone, but— “You’d let _me_ leave a mark on your neck, _though_?” she asked, teasingly.

Caleb put his hands on the sides of her waist, and breathed in her heavy perfume that he knew her mother had gifted her with the last time they’d stayed at the Lavish Chateau. Jester had positively _glowed_ , her tail swishing with delight and her hands pressing against her mouth, trying to muffle the sounds of her delighted giggles, and he’d smiled at her. Marion Lavorre had met his gaze and smirked so _smugly_ — “You could do whatever you’d like,” he said, and she giggled. “But—” He paused, the sound dying in his throat as he felt her leave another kiss, this one lower, against his sternum.

“But?” she asked, leaning back, satisfaction all over her face. It was a good look. Her tail was languidly curling around his arm.

He grimaced. “I want this, I really do—but, I, uh.” He played with the belt that she’d strapped onto her waist, over her floral dress. “I need to make _sure_ , that it’s what I want.” He exhaled. “That I’m not… tricking you, or using this, to avoid talking about the things that I said.”

Jester watched him silently, and her lips kind of curled near the ends of her mouth, in a way that was a little less teasing, a little more earnest. There was something almost… shining about her, about the glow of her smile, and Caleb wondered what he ever could’ve done to be worthy of this closeness, of this understanding. “Give it to me, then,” she said, and she wrinkled her nose. “None of that earlier _bullshit_ , though. It sounded _rehearsed_ , you know, like I was a _guidance counselor_ and you _stole_ something.”

“Ja.” Her hands were still in his hair, and he wondered if she knew how incredible she was. From the dark look on her eyes and the way she bit her bottom lip, she most assuredly did. And if she didn’t, if she still wanted him, Caleb thought spending the rest of his life reminding her seemed like a delightful way to go. “You’re right.” He coughed. “I was… running away. I was saying things about you, and the Traveller, that would make Caduceus angry at me. Make _you_ angry at me.”

“It worked,” she whispered. “I was _pretty fucking pissed_.” She tilted her head, leaning close. Her eyebrows were pinched together, and she was biting the inside of her cheek, and he could tell her cheeky tone was hiding the deep, genuine pain she repressed day-to-day with positively  _everything_ in her being.

He nodded, still playing with the loose strap of her belt. She smiled as she felt his hands on her. “They were wrong. I _love_ when you fuck with people.” He bit his bottom lip nervously, feeling his palms get a little sweaty. “You, ah. Bring joy and chaos into their lives. You make things interesting.” He coughed, clearing his throat. He could _feel_ the heat on his cheeks, flushing down his neck and his sternum. “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

She tilted her head. “And _the Traveller_?” She gave him a serious look, widening her eyes for emphasis. “Because you’re very pretty, _Cayleb_ , but I have to say, the Traveller is _number one_.”

He smirked, trying not to think about the sudden thrill he felt when she called him _pretty_. The thought of Jester finding him attractive was still a little too much for him to truly get a grip on. “I’ve never heard of a god that talks to people. He’s pretty cool.”

“The _coolest_.” Caleb saw her almost imperceptibly relax her shoulders, now free of a burden that she hadn’t allowed him, or _anybody_ , to realize he’d put her under, and he averted his gaze guiltily.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I worry, sometimes. For you. I know you know what you’re doing, and I don’t pretend to know more about the Traveller than you do.” She stared at him with uncharacteristic steadiness, and it made him feel even more vulnerable. “I was presumptuous and dismissive, that night. But it came from, uh.” He winced. “A genuine place? Sometimes the closer you are, the, uh. Less you see.” He thought of white robes, and long silver hair, and tried to will away thoughts of crystals and syringes. His hands were trembling a little on her, and he forced himself to still them.

Jester stared at him silently, and then exhaled slowly. She reached closer, and Caleb realized she was pulling him into a hug. She rested her chin on his left shoulder, and let out a breathless little laugh as she felt Caleb hesitantly wrap his arms more firmly around her waist. “I like that you _worry_ about me,” she whispered. “I like that I’m in your _head_.” She tilted her head, so her lips were close to his ear. “Can I tell _you_ a secret?”

He smirked. “Always, Lavorre.”

“You’re in my head, _too_.” She leaned back, and offered him her hand. She jutted out her chin, and gave him a very serious look. “You worry for _me_ , and I worry for _you_ , okay?”

He hesitated just a moment, and then reached for her waiting hand. “Deal.” He added, softly, “I’m here to stay, blueberry.”

When Jester pulled him in by their interwoven fingers for a kiss, it was just about the best one he'd ever had. She was cold against him, and she giggled a little, and it was fucking perfect, _she_ was fucking perfect… He moved one hand to rest against the back of her neck as he pulled her closer, and she made a little sound that made him smile against her lips. Pulling back, her voice breathless, she said determinedly, “I'd _never_ change your memory.” Jester held his face in both of her hands, and he felt so thoroughly _hers_ that it was a little intoxicating. “And if anyone else does, I’ll kick their _ass_.” One of her thumbs rubbed his cheek in a grounding, circular motion. “You know that, _right_?”

He opened his mouth to offer her assurance, but then he remembered her _pleading_ look from earlier… she wanted his assurance so desperately, but she needed his truth more. He exhaled. “It isn’t _you_ that I doubt. I trust you. I don’t—ah. I don’t trust _me_ , to trust you, all the time.” He smiled at her helplessly, feeling crushed as he saw momentary disappointment flit across her beautiful face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, that I am this way. I’m, uh.” He cleared his throat, and forced himself not to avert his gaze from hers. “I’m trying, Lavorre. Getting there. And maybe, until I do…” He thought of Beau’s probing eyes, and he sighed. “It wouldn’t be such a good idea for me to fuck _anyone_.”

There was a momentary silence, before Jester said, softly, with her eyes wide, “ _Oh_.”

“And it isn’t really fair,” he continued, feeling his heart clench a little, “to ask you to wait for me—”

“Caleb Widogast,” Jester said faintly. “Ask me to wait for you.”

He widened his eyes, and opened his mouth to protest, but her arched eyebrow made the sound die in his throat. He could feel treasonous hope in his chest. Hope he didn’t deserve. Hope he didn’t know what do with. “Would you wait for me?” he asked, gently.

Jester smirked. “ _Well_ , if you _insist_.” There was a pause, where they smiled helplessly at each other, and then she asked, shyly, “Kisses are okay, though?”

He beamed, and pulled her into one.

 

Caleb sighed, letting go of a breath he didn't even know he was holding, and knocked firmly on the door to the room Yasha and Caduceus had claimed. He winced as he heard heavy footsteps, and as the door creaked open, he raised his head to meet Yasha’s confused gaze. “Can I help you?” she asked, rubbing at her bleary eyes. Her hair, still braided and messy, inky black tumbling into a soft white, fell past her shoulders. She must’ve set in early for the evening.

Caleb cleared his throat, mortified that he’d woken her up from her slumber. “Sorry to disturb you.” He rubbed one of his arms nervously. “I needed to talk to Caduceus?”

Yasha tilted her head, watching his hands momentarily before meeting his gaze. He couldn’t tell her how grateful he was, for not pointing out his nervous tic. “He said he was gonna check something outside the tavern.” She scratched the back of her head with her hand, and bit the inside of her cheek, as she tried to remember. “Wanted to... talk to plants?” She shrugged, and there was a faint flush to her cheeks. Caleb realized she was embarrassed. “I was pretty tired.”

Caleb nodded, feeling just as awkward. “Danke,” he murmured.

“Yeah.” As she moved to close the door, she said, stiffly, “Glad you’re back.” She then nodded. He couldn’t tell if it was to him or to herself, but before he had the chance to enquire, she promptly shut the door on his face.

He listened to her footfalls as she made her way back toward her bed, and kind of smiled.

 

Caduceus was sitting on his knees and leaning down, to the cluster of sickly-looking lavenders that had been haphazardly planted in front of _The Drunken Sailor_. He was wearing a new hat, which was white and embroidered pink near the ends. Caleb wondered in the back of his head if Jester had bought it for him—it seemed like the type of thing that would make her squeal with delight if she saw it in the market square. He’d cast the _Light_ cantrip on a coin he was holding in one of his palms, and talking gently in Sylvan. _I’m just going to create some water for you, okay? It’s going to feel really nice, trust me._ He then heard Caduceus’ low voice utter arcane words under his breath, and he watched as the firbolg momentarily dropped the coin to the ground to perform the somatic elements of the spell. Water soon began to spurt out from his hands, seemingly created instantaneously from his palms.

Caleb cleared his throat, as he walked up beside him. “Caduceus,” he said, in greeting. He fiddled with his wire anxiously.

Caduceus hummed in greeting, raising his head to meet Caleb’s gaze. He didn’t seem particularly surprised to see him down here. “Caleb,” he said, with a delighted smile playing on his lips. Against the bright light emanating from the coin, the shadows played wonderfully on the firbolg’s face, making him seem almost haunting in his unique beauty.

Caleb stared at the brown grass and the limp lavenders. “I, uh, talked to Jester.”

“Oh?” Caduceus adjusted his palms, so the stream of water would hit some of the grass. “That’s nice.”

Caleb nodded. “Ja.” After a second pause, which Caduceus didn’t seem all that eager to break, he let out an anxious little laugh and said, weakly, “Thank you. For not leaving me alone that night.” He stared studiously at the grass.“Even though I wanted you to.”

His gaze slid from the ground to Caleb, and he said, the gentleness in his voice fucking painful, “It was no issue.”

Caleb paused, and then hesitantly put his hand on Caduceus’ shoulder. He squeezed slightly. “Thank you for letting me be angry,” he said, softly. “And thank you for not… listening to my bullshit.” He let his hand fall back to his side, and, turning away, began to make his way back to the tavern.

“Any time,” Caduceus said, quietly. The soft wonder in his voice made something inside Caleb want to warn him, let him know not to get his hopes up, not to expect anything from him, not to fucking _dare_ look at him _like that_ —but… but, no. He was going to be better about it. Caleb just weakly nodded, and tried not to feel too alienated at all the affection that was offered so freely.

He made his way back into the tavern, and as he walked his way up the stairs to the second floor, he saw such familiar curly blonde hair… He forced himself not to wince, and watched her from the corner of his eye. She was leaning with her elbows against the counter, engaged with what seemed like a barely tolerable conversation with an inebriated customer. Her head was tilted to the side, and against the candle light, she looked heavenly. He wondered sickly how he ever could’ve dared to inflict himself on her, this stranger with her hopeful eyes.

 _Ja_ , he thought to himself, as he stumbled into his and Fjord’s room. _What goes around most definitely comes around._ The ghost of her hands on his body would be stuck in his head forever. He’d never be free of it. He laid next to Fjord’s sleeping form, and just as he resigned himself to a miserable sleepless night, he heard, distantly, as he strained his ears to the sound—

Soft singing. A familiar voice, singing softly, the vocals interspersed with giggles. It was far too faint to make out the words, but it was unmistakably Jester Lavorre, imitating her mother’s operatic grandiosity. She was most assuredly posing on the bed, wearing all the fake jewellry she’d gotten from the circus, and making dramatic expressions, jumping up and down. He wondered if Beau had a pillow against her ears, or if she was beaming a little, like he was.

He thought of the book he’d bought, of the jewellry-clad woman who’d found love in spite of herself, and he wondered if Jester would ask him to read it for her. He wondered if she would giggle, if he did. He hadn’t read to anyone since he was Bren, but he thought maybe he’d like to do that for her…

Caleb Widogast fell asleep smiling.


	5. Chapter 5

Caleb’s deep slumber was interrupted by a pillow hitting his head. Almost immediately, he followed his instincts from countless nights spent trying to survive when forced to sleep in the surrounding woods close to small towns, where every sound was likely a creature that would delight in killing him and Nott, and he raised his hand out. Eyes still bleary, he felt himself enunciate arcane words, his mouth familiar around them, and cast _Fire Bolt,_  his hand trembling slightly as he felt fire rip out from the palm of his hand.

Beauregard grabbed another pillow just barely in time to cover herself, and she rolled her eyes as her head popped back out from behind it. She stared down, at the blackened, charred cushion in her hands, with a frown playing on her lips. Feathers were flying everywhere, and he watched as some embedded themselves into her hair. She wrinkled her nose. “What’s gotten into you?” she demanded, reaching out and smacking the back of his head.

Caleb winced, as he sat up. Beauregard’s touches were always more harsh than she usually meant for them to be, and he could painfully relate. “Don’t attack me in my sleep, then,” he retorted, and cleared his throat, hating how rough his voice sounded. He rubbed at his eyes, and folded in his legs so he was sitting in a cross-legged position. “Why have you woken me up at”—he paused for a second, scrunching up his eyebrows as he thought—“6:53 in the morning?”

Beau smirked. “So that’s what time it is.”

He stared at her, thoroughly unimpressed. “You woke me up for the _time_?”

She narrowed her eyes back at him. “I’ve done it _before_ , and you never released a fucking _Fire Bolt_ at me.” She tensed her arms, and Caleb worried for a second she might try to smack him again.

He rubbed the back of his neck. It was lighter in his room, lighter than it had been the morning before, and he realized Beau had opened the windows, and allowed light to stream in. His lips quirked up a little. _Caring, despite herself_. “I, uh.” He thinned his lips. “I’ve been tense, recently.”

She raised an eyebrow, and leaned forward so her forearms were resting on her crossed legs. Though she appeared very relaxed, he could see the stiffness in the way she squared her shoulders and how her arms were braced. She tilted her head slightly, and said, conversationally, “Yeah, we’ve talked about that. And you, uh. You lied to me.”

Caleb furrowed his eyebrows, uncomprehending about what _specific_ lie she was referring to, kind of hating that he had to even guess at all, until— _oh_. _Fuck_. Adele worked through the night and into the early morning. He could just _picture_ Beau making a nuisance of herself, annoying her with that unbearable Tracy persona until Adele slipped, underestimating Beauregard’s keen investigative skills until Beau had already gotten far more than what she needed. He groaned, and massaged his temple. “Please tell me you didn’t harass her too much.”

Beau shrugged nonchalantly, and examined her fingernails. Caleb also winced as he saw them. She _really_ needed to get those cut— “Technically, _she_ started it. Jester and I were just gonna get some training done early—”

“ _Jester_ was there?” he said, widening his eyes. He put his face in his hands. He deserved this, he deserved this, he deserved every last bit of this, but _she didn’t_ , _Jester_ didn’t. Fuck, _Adele_ didn’t. He’d gotten them all tangled up in a weave borne of his selfishness and stupidity.

Beau grinned, not recognizing his little spiral. “Between Jester’s smug little smile and Adele asking about you, it wasn’t that hard to ascertain, buddy.” She crossed her arms, and he could see her hands clenched into fists. There was a little roughness in her voice. “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kinda pissed.” Behind the satisfied gleam in her eye, Caleb could see something deliberate, something quietly seething, in her expression.

He straightened his back, and forced himself to face her. His hands gripped his blanket anxiously. Beau raised an eyebrow at him, and he smiled a little helplessly. “You, ah. _Should_ be pissed.”

Beau interjected, squinting her eyes, “Well, I _am_.”

Caleb sighed, resisting the urge to massage his temple again. “No, I don’t—that’s what I _said_ , you never”—he slumped his shoulders—“Ja.” He kind of accepted at this point that Beau, one of the most perceptive people he knew, in a way that was very different from Caduceus, would never quite get him fully, beyond isolated moments like the one they shared in the tavern yesterday. But she tried, she tried more than anyone he’d ever met, and he had to give her credit for all her fucking effort. He doubted he was worth it, worth her understanding, but he appreciated it so much—and hoped _desperately_ she saw that he was trying to understand her too. “I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I ignored what you said.” He exhaled, and then said, “I _was_ scared.” It was still so hard to admit. It was incredible how impossible three words could be, how even thinking them made his heart clench and skip a beat.

Beau said, one of her hands playing with one of her many monk vestments, “Still scared?”

He shrugged, and looked down at his hands, to his blackened fingertips, and watched how they embedded themselves in the soft blue of the tavern-provided blanket. “Uh. Work in progress.” He let out a nervous little half-laugh, and winced at the sound. “She— _Jester_ —uh.” He raised one hand and rubbed the back of his neck. “She forgave me.”

Beau nodded, her eyes still a little wary but her shoulders more relaxed. She adjusted her position so she was leaning on the headboard next to him. “Yeah,” she said, tilting her head back. She absent-mindedly tossed the ruined pillow to the floor and began picking the feathers out of her hair. “She was _singing_ last night.” A small, earnest little smile made its way onto her face, before Beau scowled with false annoyance. “Which, you know. Is fun when you’re out drinking with your friends. Not when you’re trying to _sleep_.”

Caleb couldn’t help but smile at that. “She sounded so nice, though,” he said. It felt almost instinctual, to smile when he talked about Jester Lavorre’s singing.

Beau smirked. There were still feathers in her hair and she looked ridiculous, but it was Caleb who flushed at the sight of her lecherous smile. “Well, of course you’d think that, lover boy.”

He wrinkled his nose, and moved to get up off the bed. “Never call me that again, Beauregard,” he muttered, combing his hand through his hair and wincing at the knots he felt through his fingers. He paused for a moment, and then said, clenching and unclenching his jaw nervously, “She said she would, uh. Wait for me.”

Beau considered him silently, and Caleb thought the sudden silence might kill him. She then crawled to where he was sitting on the side of his bed, with his legs dangling out, and pulled him into an abrupt, painfully awkward hug. He momentarily froze in her embrace for a second, before hesitantly raising his hand to pat her toned arm in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. She laughed a little, and her laugh was hard and coarse like his was, and it was strange, but that was what allowed the breath stuck in his throat to escape, out of everything. “Good for you, man,” she said, roughly. “Try to be, uh. Worthy of her.”

He nodded, the movement a little jerky. He bit the inside of his cheek. “Ja.” He sounded so incredibly vulnerable. This wouldn’t’ve been possible a month ago, for him to sound so lost and so hopeful in front of her.

Beau’s grip suddenly tightened on him, and she added, a little rushed, “But also, like, this shit isn’t a contest, you know.” Her voice had something… a little intangible to it. A little sad. “Don’t think… her love isn’t a prize, that you only get to have if you meet some fucking standard.” She was kind of crushing him a little, but Caleb found it a little grounding. “Do you… do you get what I’m trying to say?”

He shifted a little, so he could put his arm limply against her too. She smirked a little as she felt it. “I, uh. Get what you’re… trying to say, Beauregard. Danke.”

He felt her nod. “Yeah.” She cleared her throat, and loosened her grip on him. “So your girlfriend is downstairs with the woman you fucked last night.”

Caleb jumped off the bed, and tried not to let his heart leap too much at the way Beauregard said _girlfriend_. He quickly put on his shoes, having collapsed on the bed fully clothed the night before, and ignored the way Beauregard laughed at him. “Don’t touch my shit,” he called out, as he opened his door and made his way down the hall.

Beauregard had already leapt off the bed on the opposite side, and was making her way to the desk where Caleb had left all a mess of paper and ink and chalked symbols. She always had a curiosity to her, and over the months they’d known each other, she’d become less embarrassed about looking at his spellbook. Beau responded, her eyes glittering as she picked up one of the papers, “ _I won’t!_ ”

Despite his building dread, he had to smirk.

 

The first thing his eyes sought as he entered the lower level of the tavern was Jester Lavorre. She was sitting near the stairs, wringing her hands anxiously on the table. She had her hair in a wonderful little ponytail, and she wore ribbons that were different shades of red on her horns. She beamed and her hands stilled as their gazes met. “Cayleb!” she said, in delight, a little louder than she was usually.

He looked from the corner of his eyes to the counter, to see Adele staring at him. She had momentarily frozen, before clearing her throat sheepishly and looking away, fiddling with one end of her apron. Her face was positively burning, and there was something a little like shame in her eyes, and Caleb felt the sudden desire to blurt out a bumbling apology for ever daring to enter her life with all his fucking bullshit.

Instead, he took a deep breath, and focused on Jester, and her bright, intelligent eyes. He moved to her table, and sat across from her, with his back to Adele. Looking to Jester’s open palms reaching across the table, he leaned in, and embedded his fingers with hers, a smile spreading onto his face almost unconsciously. “Don’t tell me you teased her too much, blueberry.”

“What, _me_?” She fluttered her eyes very prettily, and Caleb tried not to get too caught up in the lovely shade of the purple makeup she wore around her eyes. At his endeared, disbelieving stare, she shrugged, and worried her lower lip. “She _kept_ asking about you,” Jester muttered. The light emanating from the windows reflected brilliantly off her blue skin. She tightened her grip on his hands. “Kept saying things, like, asking if you _mentioned_ her or if you seemed _happy_ last night, you know, and. I’m _over_ it, I _swear_.” She slumped her shoulders a little, and Caleb hated that his shitty, selfish actions had ended up hurting her so much. “I just… you’re _my_ boyfriend, now.” Caleb felt a little thrill at the forcefulness in her voice. “We’re gonna be staying here and I want _everyone_ to know.” Jester clenched her jaw, and then suddenly, she straightened her back, and widened her eyes. “Oh, I didn’t even _ask_ , you’re okay with people _knowing_ , right? I don’t—”

“Oh, Jester,” Caleb said, trying to recover from his mind short-circuiting a little from the lilting way that she said _boyfriend_. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it, from Beau or Jester or anybody else. Jester’s _boyfriend_. He squeezed her hands in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “I would _never_ ask you to hide yourself, in any way.” He could see her bottom lip kind of tremble a little, and he raised his hand, to gingerly caress her cheek. She leaned into it, her eyes still wide. “I know”—he paused, biting his own lower lip as he tried to think of a delicate way to word what he wanted to say, not missing how Jester’s keen eyes followed his movement—“you’ve had to hide yourself before. I wouldn’t… ask you to do that again.”

Jester eyed him for a second, her face unreadable. It was long enough to make him nervous, and he tried to hide the doubt that was suddenly clouding his expression. Before he could open his mouth in a rush to clarify, to make sure she didn’t misread what he was trying to say, she suddenly leaned forward, getting up slightly in her chair, to put a hand behind his neck and pull him into a deep, claiming kiss.

Caleb flushed pink, but it didn’t stop him from reciprocating, or groaning softly when Jester made his face tilt up more by pulling on his hair. When they pulled apart, Jester was grinning, and Caleb was so glad she was staring at him, focused on him, and _them_ , rather than looking to see the reaction of an undoubtedly embarrassed barmaid.

“I’m really glad, _Cayleb_.” She sat back on her chair, and her smile was bright. “I’m very glad you’re _mine_.”

 _Hers._ He used to belong to someone else before, someone else who could change his memory so _fucking_ easily, but the way Jester said it made him want to beam. It was a promise, not a threat. “Me too, blueberry.” The nickname slid through his lips so easily, and it made her smile so wide. Caleb cleared his throat, feeling the heat on his face. “Part of me feels like pulling her aside and clearing the air.” Jester, as he said this, put her hands under her chin and tilted her head slightly. The distaste in her eyes made it clear she knew the _her_ who he was referring to. He rushed to continue. “The other part of me thinks that’s a _horrible_ idea.”

There was a painful silence. Jester then simply said, scrunching up her eyebrows, “Hmmm.” The way that her hair was pulled back with a red ribbon exposed her lovely freckled neck where it was usually covered. She smirked a little as she saw Caleb looking, and then raised an eyebrow, making him realize she wanted him to continue talking from where he had paused.

He coughed, awkwardly. “I don’t know if I think it’s a horrible idea because it _is_ a horrible idea, or because I’m a coward.”

She hummed under her breath. She still looking elated from their kiss, though there was a tension in her shoulders from the current subject matter they were discussing that wasn’t there before. “I don’t think you’re a coward, Cayleb.” He tried not to widen his eyes too much at that assertion, and forced the protest to die in his throat. “Sometimes brave people act cowardly…” She trailed off a little, giving him a pointed look, and then continued, “But you’re not acting very cowardly right now, I think.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, and tried not to be too frightened of the sudden lightness in his chest.

Jester giggled. “You _flirted_ with me. You _comforted_ me. You _like_ me.”

He turned a little red, and leaned back in his chair. “Well,” he said, feeling his hands twitch a little from nothing to ground him. He thought of Frumpkin, angry at him in the Feywild, and sighed, hesitating just a moment before snapping him back into existence. Jester cooed a little in delight as Frumpkin appeared in Caleb’s lap, tail swishing with fury, and Caleb ran his hand through the soft fur. _Getting better_ , he promised the familiar, as he felt the anger and worry and annoyance hitting him. He tried not to wince at all the _concern_ , all the _attention_ , he could suddenly feel directed his way. He looked back to her. “If comforting you, and flirting with you counts as bravery, Jester, uh.” He exhaled, letting go of his breath. “You make being brave very easy.”

Jester stilled a little, the teasing smile on her face receding a little. It was replaced with a look of such unadulterated fondness, and Caleb tried not to avert his gaze away from all her warmth. “So we _agree_.” She sounded endearingly smug. “You aren’t being cowardly. So it _is_ a shitty idea.”

He laughed a little. It still sounded rough, but he wondered if it was something he could… reclaim one day. Like maybe that part of his throat, or that part of his soul, wouldn’t be rusty from disuse, and could be beautiful, like Jester’s. “Caduceus said something to me, about allowing myself to be angry.”

Jester considered him carefully, the smile playing on her lips becoming a little sad. “He said something similar to _me_ , too.”

He took a shaky breath, feeling guilt wash over him. He reached his hand out, and Jester offered hers almost immediately, mirroring his movement. She felt cold to his touch, and he hoped he could provide her some measure, _any_ measure, of warmth. _I thought you understood_. Her tearful gaze. He’d carry that for the rest of his life. He could tell, though, from her jutted out chin that she didn’t want to talk about that. Not today. Not when it was so beautiful out. Caleb felt Frumpkin purr, and nodded to her silent request. He said, looking at her hand in his, “Maybe I should just… let her be upset with me, and move on. Accept that… I can’t fix this.” He smiled a little helplessly. “I’m not very good at accepting the past.”

Jester bit her lip, and then slumped her shoulders. He waited for her to speak, but she didn’t until he met her gaze. “ _Cayleb_.” There was a reluctance to her tone, which meant she was going to give him advice that would cost her. “Maybe say… _something?_ ” She clenched her jaw, and then rushed out, “But also make it _clear_ you have a _super_ awesome girlfriend, you know. Who is like really _cool_ and _stuff_.” She squeezed his hand, and the possessive darkness that flitted through her gaze made him feel all kinds of ways, all of which were extremely pleasant.

He smirked. “The _coolest_.” They smiled at each other, hand in hand, and it was only Frumpkin’s little hiss that broke his gaze away from hers. He exhaled. _Stay on task, Widogast._ He forced himself to let go of Jester’s hand and get up, still holding the familiar in his hands. He couldn’t do this alone. As he turned and made his way to the counter, wincing with every step, the only things that kept him grounded was Frumpkin’s purring and Jester’s reassuring eyes on his back.

Adele, as he reached her, looked down, at her crossed arms. Her hair was pulled back, so it was tight in front while curly as ever in a mane behind her head. Her brown eyes were dark and a little miserable. “Hey,” she said, softly. He could hear the palpable embarrassment radiating off of her, off her abrupt greeting, and he wanted to kick himself for making her, an innocent in all of this, as innocent as Jester, involved in all of his bullshit.

“Hey,” he echoed, and tried not to collapse into himself at how meek he sounded. He felt Frumpkin scratch him on his arm, and he closed his eyes momentarily, before opening them back up to look at her. “I wanted to apologize, for the discomfort you’ve suffered, on my behalf.” He bit his lip, hating how formal he sounded yet completely unable to stop it. This was the only way he would survive this conversation. He didn’t owe this woman the depths of his soul like he did Jester, or Beauregard, or Nott, but she deserved _some_ honesty. “I didn’t…” He wanted to tell her he didn’t mean for all of this, but he was tired of his own excuses. He’d known better, and the fact that he’d known better kind of killed him. “I’m sorry.” It was as honest as he was able.

Adele looked to him, and then to Jester, and then her gaze flicked back, and she just… sighed. “Yeah,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck.

They looked at each other awkwardly, before Caleb just said, rushing through it, “Thank you for your time.” He winced, and turned away, and walked back to the little blue tiefling who looked a little annoyed and very amused.

She got up, as he approached her, and said, reaching for his hand almost unconsciously, “All good?”

He stared at her pink nails, and said, softly, “All good.”

 

They were leaving Port Damali, soon. They were getting on that wretched boat, The Ball-Eater, of whose name he had still not convinced the Mighty Nein to change, and they were heading for some surely wretched island that hosted some surely wretched people.

Caleb Widogast was in a good mood.

Nott wrinkled her nose at him. Despite wearing her bandages and porcelain mask to disguise her goblin form, she also wore a floral dress that matched some of Jester’s that he’d seen her in lately. They’d probably gone shopping together. The thought made Caleb want to smile. “Are you”—she gestured to his face, her lips quirking up in anticipation of her own joke—“you good? Your face is doing something weird—”

Beau, beside her, scoffed, as they watched The Ball-Eater approaching the port. Fjord was talking to a very officious looking man, trying to convince him desperately that this _wasn’t_ a joke, it was the _actual name of the ship, sir_ — “We get it, Nott, he’s smiling. Lover boy’s been giddy for _weeks_ , no need—”

“Hey!” Jester called out, interrupting Beau. She caught up to them, apparently bored listening to Fjord’s conversation with the other man. She wore her hair in one single braid, which Caleb had done for her that morning, and her horns were adorned in very beautiful pink and purple ribbons. “It’s almost _here_ ,” she giggled.

Caleb reached out, and grabbed her hand. It felt natural now, for his hand to fit against hers. “You’re late, Lavorre.” He jutted his chin out to Nott and Beau. “They’re making fun of me.”

Beauregard wrinkled her nose. “ _Hey_ , I was _defending_ you, you _fuck._ ”

Jester glowered at them, only the soft twitching at the corners of her mouth betraying her amusement. She pretended to crack her knuckles. “Only _I_ can bully Cayleb,” she proclaimed, looking at him from the corner of her eyes. “And only since he _likes_ my kind of bullying.”

“Ew—” Beau began, looking horrified, but Caleb tuned her out, looking to Jester’s lovely face, and lovely expression, and lovely floral dress. She noticed him looking, and squeezed his hand.

He brought her close, watching the way the ocean breeze made her bangs ruffle, and her braid ripple behind her, and he pulled her into a kiss. He felt her smile against him, and thought maybe, for the first time in many years, that he could get learn to get used to this chaotic kind of peace.


End file.
